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WORKS OF 



LOUISE THOMPSON 



POETRY AND PROSE 



EDITED BY HER MOTHER 

■ 



With Introductory Notice by J. Dow Houston 




, CINCINNATI 
STANDARD PUBLISHING COMPANY 
1889 



75 3 4 -at" 



Copyright, 1889, by 
M. A. Thompson. 



*'!» 



o^ 



i 



DEDICATORY PAGE. 

Note. — It was the purpose of the authoress, 
had she lived to see her book finished, to have 
dedicated it to her mother, M. A. Thompson, 
but as she did not write a dedicatory notice, a 
formal dedication must be omitted. 



CONTENTS. 



The Tulip Gazette I 

Dr. Dartlark's Second Wife 2 

Letter from Dr. Dartlark to his Two Children at Home 

in America 19 

Dr. Dartlark Writes from Vienna to an Old College Friend 

at Home 22 

The Pitcher Under the Door-step 26 

The Christian Armor 33 

Queen Vashti 35 

Letter to My Most Worthy Friend, Ella Trimble 37 

To a Lady Friend and School-mate Anticipating a Trip to 

New York 41 

To Bella 43 

To a Dear Friend 47 

Dedicated to My Mother 49 

Forgetfulness 51 

Dead Hope 53 

When I Am Gone 55 

Lost and Found in a Crowded Depot ^. 59 

A Dream of Death 63 

King David at the Gate . 68 

A Seraph Serenade 71 

The Perfume of Lilacs : 77 

To Bella 80 

v. 



VL CONTENTS. 

March Snow-storm 88 

Life in Death 91 

First Love., 93 

Lines on the Centennial Anniversary of Alexander Camp- 
bell's Birth 96 

Lines Written on the Death of My Little Angel Cousin, 

Elsie Thompson :___ 99 

Spring's Teachings; or God in Nature 101 

Easter Memories 103 

Rest 107 

Social Inequality 109 

My Little Lover 113 

Fragments of Time 116 

Gamaliel 117 

Separation 120 

To a Child Rarely Beautiful 124 

Your Loss and Mine 128 

Rash Judgment 131 

Regrets 139 

The Unsought Blessing 141 

Tired 143 

Hope and Despair 147 

My Angel 150 

Lord Byron 153 

Allene 156 

The Poet's Delay 167 

Among the Water Lilies 171 



INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. 



" Poeta nasciiur nonfit" expresses a truth 
that is abundantly verified in the case of the 
author of this book. These poems are purely 
the production of an inborn, poetic talent. 

It has been said of poetry, that it has in it 
the least of objective purpose, the most of spon- 
taneity, of all literature. This spontaneity is 
characteristic of all these pieces. They seem 
to have sprung as wild-flowers, in unstudied 
but beautiful carelessness, from the virgin-pure, 
unbroken and fertile soil of the young author's 
mind. They are beautiful for the reason that 
" nature unadorned is adorned the most." 

To the lover of true poetry, there will be 



Vlll. INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. 

the same pleasure in reading these pages as is 
experienced in finding a cluster of violets^ 
daisies or forget-me-nots, while walking abroad 
in the meadows or in the upland woods ; or in 
finding a cool spring in the crevice of a rock 
without the usual conveniences of cup or pump. 

When the reader is apprised of the fact 
that on account of the extreme delicacy of 
health the author was unable to attend even the 
home school, he will be surprised at the wide 
range of thought and the deep knowledge of 
human nature that is displayed. Yet she was 
a great reader, and the works of the standard 
poets were her particular delight. Many cf the 
finer poems she committed to memory. I have 
heard her repeat " Hiawatha' ■ without a 
break. 

She was passionately fond of the beautiful. 
She would go into ecstasies of delight at the 
sight of a rare sunset, or a fine bit of landscape. 
The religious emotions and feelings of rever- 
ential awe that were awakened within her at 
a beautiful sight or sound, and the accompany- 



INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. IX. 

ing desire for perfect joy and peace, was her 
standing argument for God and immortality. 

She was of a philanthropic bent, and it 
was her great desire, particularly toward the 
close of her life, to do some good for her 
kind. Being of a highly refined and sensitive 
nature, much of the means by which Christian 
work must be done, was such as she could 
not employ. For the same reason she looked 
upon the lower forms of life and the poorer 
ways of living with a very ill-concealed repug- 
nance, but these both combined to give her 
a keen desire to elevate and bless. 

It was a great desire of hers to write a 
book, and had she been spared, the literature 
of the world would likely have been much 
and valuably augmented. As it is, this little 
book is sent forth by her loving mother with 
the earnest prayer to Him who giveth and 
taketh away, that its mission may not be 
vain. 

It is deeply regretted that some of the 
pieces are left unfinished, but they are in- 



X. INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. 

eluded, with the hope that the reader's im- 
agination will complete the plot that was so 
well begun. J. Dow Houston. 

Minerva, O., June 18, 1889. 



LOUISE THOMPSON'S WORKS. 



THE TULIP GAZETTE * 

A paper was written upon the high seas 
The home-hungry voyager's heart to appease. 
The paper was read all from manuscript page, 
For no publisher there might they hope to en- 
gage. 
The contributors all were selected by vote 
Each day, and strange were the verses they 

wrote. 
Some were descriptive of scenes far remote, 
Others were copied from songs learned by rote. 
Satire sometimes took the form of bold wit 
That cared not for sensitive natures a whit. 



* Unfinished. 



2 LOUISE THOMPSON S WORKS. 

Some sang of the feelings that melt the stout 
heart, 

Such sorrows as love unreturned will impart. 

The prose contributions I will not rehearse, 

But will herein insert some thin fragments of 
verse, 

That appeared in the transient-lived Tulip Ga- 
zette 

Whose life 'neath the spray of the sea-foam is 
set. 



DR. DARTLARK'S SECOND WIFE. 

INTRODUCTION. 

A portrait, not handsome but strongly defining 
Firm features whose cut was somewhat in- 
clining 
Toward beauty of face, where beauty of mind 
Transcendently beamed in outlines refined 



THE TULIP GAZETTE. 3 

And mobile it may be, for while they looked cold 
And long worn, I doubt not that they could 

unfold 
A secret possession as charming and mild 
As artist e'er sketched on the face of a child. 
Large eyes of wide azure, half-shaded by brows 
Under which there flashed glances of fire to 

arouse 
Respect from the scholar, affection from all — 
Such was the portrait that hung on the wall 
In the house of my friend who gave me the 

thread 
Of this little romance to which I shall wed 
A fancy or two to the facts I have learned-^— 
Facts that have long on my frail fancy burned. 
A man in the prime of his full manly powers 
On whose future horizon no threatening lowers, 
Whose face is a study, whose figure is slight, 
Whose intellect widens with each morning's 

light, 
Whose purse is not filled with dishonorable 

gold, 
Whose honor can never be bought, nor be sold, 



4 LOUISE THOMPSON S WORKS. 

Whose opinion expressed can establish a fact, 
Whose charity never for subjects has lacked ; 
His fame is so pure and untarnished and bright 
That his presence is pleasure, his words fall 

with might, 
Dispersing the darkness of many a night 
Of affliction or ignorance, doubt or despair, 
That weighed down some soul with the pressure 

of care. 
Such is the fair hero I now will present — 
A healer to troubled humanity lent. 
'Tis not his achievements nor services done 
But affections, of which I have herein begun 
To weave me a story, I trust will amuse 
Some reader, whose mind it will strongly infuse 
With love of the beautiful, honest and grand 
With which we 're environed in this happy land. 



THE TULIP GAZETTE. 



Part First. 



We will first meet our hero on European soil, 
Whence he has fled from murderous toil — 
Professional duties, with effort begun, 
Which it now requires a hard struggle to shun. 
His countenance tinges with rest and relief, 
Although recreation with him has been brief. 
He has finished the passage across the brave 

sea, 
From New York, our metropolis, where 

Liberty 
Waves a farewell to ocean-bound ships, 
And presses a kiss on the ocean's cold lips. 
He has landed in London, but not for the first 
Time in life does that city's confusion now burst 
In intricate uproar, now distant, now near, 
Upon his tired senses and over-tasked ear. 
Through streets half-familiar, like thoughts of 

the past 
By dreamy surroundings upon the mind cast, 



6 LOUISE THOMPSON S WORKS. 

All shapeless and voiceless, the dream of a 

dream, 
The substance of shadow, the ghost of a 

stream. 
Along the thronged thoroughfares, to the hotel 
Our hero was driven, while memories spell 
Was deepening down on his half-haunted mind 
Making him heedless, and making him blind 
To the flash and the glitter of London's bold 

sights 
Illumed by the blazes of thousands of lights. 
When apart from the glitter and glare of the 

street 
The Doctor began to mentally greet 
Old scenes now remembered that night veiled 

from view 
With the mist and the fog and the darkness she 

threw 
In challenge against the devices of art 
At whose bold appearance the dark gave a start, 
Withdrawing to some more indistinct place 
Where light would not seek her secrets to trace. 
Alone in quiet, seclusion and peace 



THE TULIP GAZETTE. 7 

Of rented apartments enjoying release 
From fear of annoyance, or unceasing work 
A picture of memory boldly would lurk 
In all his reflections and softly impart 
The gentlest of sorrows unto his heart. 
Sadly, yet painlessly, entered the thought 
Of when but a few years ago he had brought 
A companion whose presence was so full of 

light 
That London had never before worn the night 
To the Doctor's sad eyes, to him it now seemed 
That " seeing he saw not," but drearily 

dreamed 
That the darkness within cast the shadow of 

night 
Without on a landscape that else had been 

bright. 
He remembered the beautiful girl that had hung 
With joy on his kisses, and how she had sung 
The songs unforgotten thro' many a year — 
Those ballads so sweet to love's gratified ear. 
Exhausted from travel and saddened with grief 
That was softened by time he sought the relief 



8 louise Thompson's works. 

Of slumber, that brought him a wonderful 

dream, 
Or wafted it in on the strong narrow beam 
Of light that streamed thro* the transom and 

fell 
Undimmed on his face revealing the spell 
That memory wrought on the dream-fastened 

sleep 
That had fallen upon him so sound and so deep. 
He dreamed of a scene that was misty with 

years — 
Years that had covered its pleasures with tears : 
On the deck of a steamer he sat with his bride, 
The fair lovely creature, his heart's dearest 

pride ; 
The beauteous being, the contested prize 
He had sought and had won ; whose dark soul- 
ful eyes 
Were answering questions in voiceless replies, 
When from the seat of their refuge they rise. 
He holds for a moment her velvety hand 
While gazing afar on the heavens they stand 
In thoughtless embrace unconscious of love. 



THE TULIP GAZETTE. 9 

He sees the threatening storm-cloud above 
Spread hurriedly over the dark upper deep 
That soon with commotion will groan and 

weep. 
Then memory fails his fancy to guide ; 
Over the fierce ocean battle they ride. 
The sky and the sea in fury have met, 
Their sternest powers in command are set 
Against each other in fullest array ; 
They strike, they reel, and trembling they sway 
To the force of an angry, powerful gale 
That lashes the waves and makes them wail. 
The dreamer, anxious, but self-possessed, 
Earnestly tries to comfort the rest, 
Whose terror and fast increasing fear 
Wring from them shouts the deaf might hear. 
But she, his beautiful, trembling bride 
Silently clings to her lover's side. 
The ship is foundered and thro' the sea 
The passengers sink to eternity. 
No, not all of that fated crowd 
He dreams will wear the watery shroud, 
For quick he jumps from the sinking ship, 



IO LOUISE THOMPSON S WORKS. 

Within his tightening death-strong grip 

Holding the forms of two young girls — 

One whose beautiful pale gold curls 

Had never caressed his cheek before 

But the other's had swept it o'er and o'er. 

The light of a life-boat he could mark 

Gliding along in the billowy dark ; 

The light that flashed from the angry sky 

Revealed him, he thought as the boat passed by, 

Then riding back on a baffled wave 

It sought the perishing ones to save, 

They were rescued then, the three, he thought 

But when by the lightning flash he sought 

To catch a glimpse of his bride's pale face 

He saw it not in the fatal place 

Where seemingly he had felt it beam 

In anxious hope in that midnight dream. 

But the face that was crowned with golden hair 

Shone like a guardian angel there. 

In fear the troubled dreamer awoke, 

Day had crept in and softly broke 

The dream that could not endure the light 

But only haunted the hateful night, 



THE TULIP GAZETTE. II 



The Home. 



On a broad, shady street walled with houses of 

stone 
There stands one of marble all gleaming alone 
In the afternoon sun, that falls broad and strong 
On its glass-studded front and the flowers that 

throng 
The bay-window shading the pavement below, 
A window where choicest of flowers that grow 
Stand like pictures of beauty behind the thick 

glass 
To those that glance upward in haste as they 

pass. 
The high second story projects o'er the street, 
Then slopes to the third where the plan is com- 
plete. 
There are windows and gables and statues all 

o'er 
The front, from the roof to the huge bronze 

front door. 



12 LOUISE THOMPSONS WORKS. 

The west side with bay windows lavishly hung 
But mirrors the east where statues are swung 
Above each projection of window and door 
Until the skilled architect could do no more 
With the still, dream-like beauty that sleeps in 

the stone 
Till the sculptor unveils it a marvel full-grown. 
Taste had carved out of a mountain of wealth 
A grotto where flitted two pictures of health, 
Like bright, restless fairies they went and they 

came 
Behind the white glass where the sun's latest 

flame, 
Revealed them, a girl and a jubilant boy 
Irrepressible with the wildness of joy. 
The taller one's face was pale, and her hair 
Was blacker than I shall attempt to compare ; 
Her eyes, dark and lustrous and soft, never 

smiled, 
But often her sweet rose-red lips were defiled 
With a bright smile that scattered the charming 

repose 
Of a mouth that suggested a red, half-blown rose. 



THE TULIP GAZETTE. 1 3 

The boy was blue eyed and fair-haired and gay, 
Always pursuing his own thoughtless way. 
In despite of the caution from auntie and nurse, 
He seemed every day to be still growing worse. 
Mischievous, restless, and active and strong, 
He cared not if his way was right or was wrong, 
But he was more noisy and restless and bright 
Than careless of some other play-fellow's right. 
There was an affection that seldom was seen 
That grew and was rapidly strengthened be- 

tween 
These opposite children, one pensive and mild, 
The other a boisterous, frolicsome child. 
Alice was constant devotion to Ray, 
And he in return adored her sweet way 
Of covering up the forth-coming fun 
He had in confidence gayly begun. 
Aunt Margaret loved and petted and kissed 
Them and often talked of how sadly they 

missed 
The mother whose sad and premature death 
Gave to the last-born her vanishing breath. 
Then they spoke of the absent far over the sea, 



14 louise Thompson's works, 

Ray wishing that soon he might mount on his 

•knee^ 
And challenge him for a wrestle and fight 
In which he could prove muscular might. 
But Alice longed for the love and the praise 
Of her beauty and grace and exquisite ways. 
She loved to be petted and kissed and caressed, 
'T was affection, not vanity, that she pos- 
sessed 
In such a wonderful, intense degree 
That nothing, however amusing, could free 
Her heart from the sadness his absence had 

brought 
Who held her tenderest, happiest thought. 
Now let us venture to partly explore 
The interior mansion on the first floor. 
We first find a spacious, marble-floored hall 
So high that it echoes the foot-steps that fall 
So softly that were they not sounded again 
They would fall like the gentlest mid-summer 

rain. 
At the foot of each sofa, in front of each door, 
Rugs of rich coloring brightened the floor. 



THE TULIP GAZETTE I 5 

A huge Gothic window inset with stained glass 
Thro' which tinted sunshine with effort could 

pass, 
Was set like a gem in the high western wall 
Of that shadowy, frescoed, vestibuled hall. 
The stairway stood pointing a dim muffed hand 
In earnest entreaty or gentle command 
To the home life of frolic and pleasure and love 
That dwelt on the next splendid story above, 
The first where the dining room, office and hall 
And kitchen pressed 'gainst the four-sided wall. 
The second floor opens an exquisite plan 
More homelike and beautiful than There can 
Explain under all the restrictions of verse, 
But I shall attempt it, for better or worse. 
In the parlor, that faces the broad, shady street, 
We find everything unique and complete ; 
The chairs are of plush, pale blue, broad and 

low, 
Just suited incomparable ease to bestow 
On the occupant shrouded within their soft 

arms 
Restfully drinking in ambient charms. 



1 6 louise Thompson's works. 

The high walls are gorgeous with paper and 

paint 
And wood-carving both suggestive and quaint. 
The broad mantel spreads its white open wings 
As if to hear if the cricket still sings 
On the hearth that is warmed by a far truer 

flame 
Than ever in warm fitful radiance came 
From under the bronze and chased silver and 

gold 
That stands in pleasing relief strong and bold 
On the wide marble shelf that shadows the 

hearth 
On wjiich resounds the wild voices of mirth. 
Nursery, drawing-room, library, all 
Answer necessity's loud, stirring call 
From this one apartment, this grand, airy room, 
So full of loveliness, sunshine and bloom. 
From here we enter thro* huge folding-doors 
A sleeping-room where the morning sun pours 
Its first sloping beams upon the broad panes 
Of windows whose glaring reflection constrains 
The sleepers to rise with the wide-awake sun 



THE TULIP GAZETTE. 1 7 

That flings them a hint of the lessons and fun 
That awaits the wakening of sun-lighted skies, 
And opening of sky-blue and midnight-black 

eyes 
Again the smooth floor is of marble so white 
That it dazzles the eyes in the fair morning 

light; 
The furniture, too, is the same spotless hue 
Just brightened with gold, and the ceiling is blue 
As the concave of heaven, o'er whose bound- 
less arch 
The nocturnal hosts in silence still march. 
Two cots with gilt frames and draperies like 

snow 
(In which two small sleepers to fairy land go 
Each night in the soft fluffy garments that wrap 
Two little dreamers in one night-long nap,) 
Modestly nestle obscurely behind 
Long flowing curtains with gold rings confined 
To let in the sweet, life-bearing air 
Freely to circulate health everywhere. 
Here a museum of relics find space 
To add to the beauty and free careless grace 



1 8 loui.se Thompson's works. 

Of a house where nothing is set up for show 
But everything used some service to know. 
A door in the side of the massive west wall 
Leads to the bath at the head of the hall. 
The walls of the bath room are padded so 

well 
That all the confusion within they can quell. 
Beyond these apartments we find but two 

more, 
Both with rich painted walls and carpeted floor. 
Now let us not here attempt to explore 
The rooms that divide the airy third floor. 
We have hastily pictured the inner design 
Of this happy home along each limping line. 
Remembering all we have seen at a glance, 
We will pass on and come again sometime, per- 
chance. 



THE TULIP GAZETTE. 1 9 



Letter from Dr. Dartlark to his two 
Children at Home in America. 

My little treasures, I have crossed the sea, 

And soon on the continent hope to be ; 

London has made me so deeply depressed 

That I long as much as ever for rest. 

To Germany next I intend to go 

Where nothing familiar, I trust, can throw 

A blight o'er my spirits and make me sad, 

For I was a light-hearted, reckless lad 

When Vienna became my transient home 

Long ago, ere I ceased the world to roam 

With spirits as gay as the singing bird 

That perched in the branch above me I heard. 

Some youth still lives in my heart, I think, 

Although I feel it in sadness sink 

So low sometimes that it leaves no trace 

Of its presence upon my care-worn face. 

I think of you always, my little pets, . 1 



20 LOUISE THOMPSON S WORKS. 

Your absence causes my saddest regrets ; 

J need you with me to warm and to cheer 

My life that without you will soon grow sere. 

Yes, I need you worse than my pets need me, 

In truth, I believe, I would rather be 

This minute a slave to duties that wait 

For my coming beside my mansion gate, 

Than be from home, love and pleasures free 

A rover, far over the grand old sea. 

But just remember, my little dears, 

That papa will not stay away for years ; 

But before I come home I must go to France, 

To get my darling a doll that can dance. 

My little man, I shall not forget you, 

But will bring you something so fine and new 

That your bright blue eyes will darken and 

smile 
Till all my cares they will quickly beguile. 
Good-bye, dear children, be good and kind, 
And always, cheerfully, "Auntie" mind. 
She will read you all I have hurriedly said, 
And kiss you for me when she tucks you to 

bed. 



THE TULIP GAZETTE. 21 

Don't fail to remember your evening prayer, 
Nor forget in the morning to thank Him for 

care 
That kept you unharmed thro' the darkness of 

night 
And brought you again the sweet morning 

light. 
When tempted to do whatever is wrong, 
Remember the words of your cradle song, 
The song with such loving memories fraught 
That I to my birdies in tears have taught. 
And when you feel tired and lonely and sad, 
Look on the portrait whose face is so glad ; 
The smile of your mother's soft dark eyes 
Will remind you of warm October skies. 
And gazing upon her pure, bright face 
You may borrow a touch of its gentle grace. 
Forget not the wreath of flowers to renew 
Each day, and keep forever in view 
The pictured face so much like your own, 
Except that it is some older grown. 
The dinner hour is now drawing nigh, 
Compelling me here to say Good-bye. 



22 LOUISE THOMPSON S WORKS. 



Dr. Dartlark Writes from Vienna to an 
Old College Friend at Home. 

My dear fellow, you doubtless will startle to 

learn 
That I have decided to quickly return 
From this grand old city where once I would 

cling 
Unmindful of loss that such leisure would bring. 
I met an American the other day 
Whose acquaintance is cause of my limited stay ; 
*T was but a coincidence that led me near 
To the place where the change in my plans 

does appear. 
I met at the opera one that I knew 
When a boy, and our friendship we soon did 

renew. 
Thro' him, in a few days his party I met, 
And one of them made me deeply regret 
That I could not join them and travel thro' 

France, 



THE TULIP GAZETTE. 23 

And make the home voyage with them, too, 

perchance. 
June Reynolds, a ravishing, golden-haired girl, 
Is the being that set my plans all a-whirl. 
She was finished in music last year at Stuttgart ; 
All nice technicalities there they impart. 
Her name but suggests what I find her to be — 
A June crowned with roses and sunshine for me ; 
A bird that can soar in her songs to the skies, 
Whose every note is a new, sweet surprise. 
No nightingale she, but a brave singing lark ; 
A Dartlark. I 'd have her to banish the dark 
That I 've worn in my heart thro' a long, ray- 
less night 
On which is now dawning the morning twilight. 
One month from to-day I hope to embark 
On the "Tulip," from Havre, with this singing, 
lark. 

The party to which she at present belongs 
Are all unfamiliar with her native songs ; 
At Paris a chaperon cousin will claim 
Full power to govern — it may be to blame 
This butterfly beauty at last out of school, 



24 LOUISE THOMPSON S WORKS. 

Whom I call an exception, instead of the rule. 
Time had dragged lazily onward with me 
Since I last crossed o'er the blue, belching sea. 
Until here the winter I felt, changed to June 
And life has since been one soul-stirring tune. 
The full-orbed and silver-faced, soft-shining 

moon, 
Yields to the florid-faced morning too soon ; 
The morn sinks too rapidly into the noon 
To one who may bask in the sunshine of June. 
The bright violin and the plaintive guitar 
Are stirred to performance by this little star. 
The violin wails like a soul in distress ; 
Then softens and ripples like laughter, no less. 
Her soul thro' her fingertips touches the strings 
And out of their mysteries voices it brings, 
That speak of the tender, impassioned and mild, 
Then wail like a turbulent, heart-broken child. 
She plays with closed eyes ; like a statue she 

stands, 
Motionless all but her magical hands ; 
Except that sometimes she sways to the sounds 
That govern her mood as the cadence resounds 



THE TULIP GAZETTE. 25 

In the quivering string that thrill to the touch 
That strikes some full melodies almost too much 
For the listening ear to catch and endure — 
So wide is the range of that music, so pure. 
Her low-voiced guitar keeps time to the airs 
That have drowned the whimpering voices of 

cares. 
We drift down the Danube at sunset in time, 
To music that blends with musical rhyme. 
Her beautiful hair hangs in loose golden braids 
Gleaming and paling in lights and in shades. 
Her eyes are the stars that I see in the wave, 
Her presence the sunshine I constantly crave. 
All this I have told you to her is unknown, 
Stealthily, noiselessly, love's seed was sown. 
Out of the fullness of love that I feel 
I will not to her one impulse reveal ; 
For she 's airy and haughty, tho' charming and 

sweet, 
And should I proclaim my love I might meet 
A shower of refusals and be laughed to scorn 
And sent from her presence heart-empty, for- 
lorn. 



26 louise Thompson's works. 

I thought when I took up my pen I would write 
To you of the changes that here meet my sight, 
But the change in my plans is as far as I We gone 
In that line of thought, and I can not go on ; 
For a binding engagement approaches the hour 
That calls me to visit my friends at the Tower. 
Good-bye, dear old fellow; remember to call 
As soon as I 'm home, and I promise you all 
The annals I Ve gathered on ocean and land, 
And a warm, welcome clasp of an old partner's 

hand. 
Remember the day we intend to embark, 
And watch for your faithful friend, 

Hiram Dartlark. 



THE PITCHER UNDER THE DOORSTER 

Out in the dusk of a winter's evening 
A boy was sent to the old town well 

That had quenched the thirst of town and traveler 
More often than anyone could tell. 



THE PITCHER UNDER THE DOORSTEP. 2>] 

But it did not greet the empty pitcher 
That was given in trust for him to fill 

Who hid it beneath the clumsy platform 
Of steps that led from the old doorsill. 

He came not back with the ice-cold water 
For which they longed as they all sat down 

To the evening meal at which was missing, 
The jolliest boy in all the town. 

They knew his thoughtless, careless nature, 
And never dreamed they of loss nor harm, 

Until the evening far advancing 
Began to waken a faint alarm. 

In every heart within that crescent 
That shaped itself around the fire 

Could not dismiss the anxious question 
That of the absent one would inquire. 

Long ere the midnight crept upon them 
His brothers had sought him every place 

Where he was wont to spend the evening, 
But found not the one familiar face 



28 louise Thompson's works. 

For which they kept on blindly searching 
Until, disheartened, they let despair 

Replace their hope of finding the brother 
That had been their constant, hopeful care. 

His mother ever praying, watching 

With saddened eyes for her child's return, 

Felt a comfortless, hopeless sorrow 
Down deep within her bosom burn. 

Years kept covering up his absence 
With deeper shadows as time went on, 

Until at last she ceased her praying 
And counted him one forever gone. 

Faithful and true the waiting pitcher 

Kept its secret thro' many years, 
Catching as tho' it were the water 

That fell from longing eyes in tears. 

What warm hand is it that now closes 
Around its handles ? It is the hand 

That placed it there and now is seeking 
To quietly obey the light command 



THE PITCHER UNDER THE DOORSTEP. 2g 

He left unheeded, when adventure 
Urged him to leave the pitcher there ; 

And now he has come in prime of manhood 
To answer his mother's silent prayer. 

Up to the well in the dusky twilight 
The rover goes unknown, unseen, 

And fills the empty china vessel 

With all the promise that grew between 

That hour and when he wandered from them, 
The dear ones where he now would meet 

If there remained one anxious watcher 
That he with old-time love could greet. 

He did not enter like a stranger 
By tapping at the firm-closed door, 

But opened it and crossed the threshold 
Just as he oft had done before. 

" I Ve filled the pitcher and have brought it 
All dripping from the well at last, 

And now let 's drink unto the present 
Forgetful of the painful past." 



30 louise Thompson's works. 

So said the prodigal, and seizing 

A goblet from the well-spread board 

Where sat the little group in wonder, 
He carelessly and gayly poured 

The shining goblet to o'erflowing 
Before their wonder-stricken eyes, 

That saw as from the grave the absent 
Before them suddenly arise. 

They put no ring upon his finger, 
Nor did they kill the fatted calf, 

But only offered him a supper 

Of which there now remained not half. 

The viands that had deen provided 
For that informal evening meal 

Whose unexpected, startling sequel 
Had such a secret to reveal. 

They all regarded him with wonder 
More than with love and warm esteem ; 

'T was all so sudden and romantic 
They still believed it half a dream. 



THE PITCHER UNDER THE DOORSTEP. JI 

If he had come before they buried 
The spark of hope so long gone out, 

He would have met a warmer welcome, 
And one more loving I Ve no doubt. 

But while they sought him he had idled 

Away the timeliest of all times 
In which to come and seek their pardon ; 

But still he clung to other climes, 

Enjoying gain in silent pleasure 

And hoarding all his secrets up 
To pour them out some distant evening 

Into that flashing, crystal cup. 

He felt a want of perfect welcome 

Unto his long-abandoned home: 
He had expected love and pardon, 

And never more again to roam. 

But they who labored late and early 
In search of him they could not find, 

Found not among his thoughtless actions 
A golden link their hearts to bind 



32 louise Thompson's works. 

To him, and soon again he wandered 
Away as he had done before, 

And all his dreams of home had faded 
Just as their longings all were o'er. 

But when he died he left them riches 
That he from other hands had wrung, 

As a memento of remembrance 
The relics of his labors hung 

Before cold eyes that coldly viewed them 
As wages for some service done, 

For some misguided and unthankful, 
Unfeeling and unpardoned one. 

Oh, you who have an active duty 
Before you, do not thus delay 

To execute the well-known service 
In the prescribed and proper way. 

Some scheme may seize upon your fancy 
And paint a most entrancing scene, 

But it will fade if you let distance 
Of years of waiting intervene 



THE CHRISTIAN ARMOR. 33 

Between the coming of your knowledge 

Of duty that you justly owe 
And the performance of that duty 

That with the speed of time must grow. 



THE CHRISTIAN ARMOR. 

" Put on the whole armor of God" (Eph. vi. 11). 

How strong and safe the warrior 

In armor firm and whole ! 
The perfect, shining armor 
Of God about the soul, 

Withstanding in the evil day, 
The host of sin in mad array. 

Then stand erect, undaunted ; 

Supported by the truth, 
And having on the breastplate, 
Of righteousness and truth, 
The enemies sin-poisoned dart, 
Can never pierce your shielded heart. 



34 LOUISE THOMPSON S WORKS. 

Bind on the preparation 

Of gospel peace so sweet ; 
Unto the tired and wayworn 
Disciples' bleeding feet. 

When with such soft-soled sandals shod, 
The roughest way is smooth toward God 

But enter not the conflict 
Upon the foeman's field 
Without the precious metal . 
Of faith's defiant shield 

It quick can quench the darts of wrong 
That hiss through air the field along. 

Then take the given helmet, 
Salvation sweet and sure, 
And then the sword of Spirit, 
The word which shall endure 

When heaven and earth have passed away 
In heat of that great unknown day. 



QUEEN VASHTI. . 35 



QUEEN VASHTI. 

[Written upon reading the fifth of Dr. Talmage's " Series 
of Sermons to the Women of America, with Important Hints 
to Men."] 

Hail Vashti ! in thy gem-bedewed attire 
Of Persia's richest fabrics richly wrought, 
With studied art and strong aesthetic thought, 
That struggling to excel could mount no longer 
Toward the fair perfection of design, 

But in thy royal garments reached the height 
Of peerless beauty in each graceful line 

Of gorgeous coloring and blended light. 

Fair happy queen of envied rank and state, 
Thou wert the fairest and the first to fade 
Of all the tender blossoms that were made 
The victim of an early blasting fate ; 
For still the palace gardens bright with bloom 

Rejoice in royal sunshine and sweet shade, 
But on thy cheek the rose is dead with gloom ; 

Thy life, a spray torn from the parent blade 



36 louise Thompson's works. 

Lies withering under heat of burning scorn, 
And weight of loss, undreaded ere that hour 
That robbed thee of thy throne and of thy dower, 
And made of thee an outcast, homeless and 
forlorn. 

Methinks I hear thee in thy fullest grief 
Speak comfort unto thy poor outraged heart, 
And with reflection some new hope impart; 
Some peaceful hope born of thy stout belief 
In justice and in virtue's untold might, 
For that thou hast been blameless and done right 
Throws all about thy darkened life a light 
More pure and penetrating and more bright 

Than light of silver dripping over ivory stairs 
On shields of gold ; there is a native throne 
Of more than oriental treasure where is known 
To thee, thy monarch mind, where time prepares 
A banquet for thy loneliness, a feast 
For thy heart-hunger, and sweet, plaintive songs 
For thy brave silence, voiceless of thy wrongs 
Of that stern law, that binds the unreleased. 



LETTERS. $J 



LETTER TO MY MOST WORTHY 
FRIEND, ELLA TRIMBLE. 

[Written December 10, 1887.] 

When thinking how to answer your kind letter, 
My heart advised me to command and fetter 
My scattered thoughts in verse, however plain, 
Prosaic, dull may sound the random strain. 

I hope hereby to state in modern verse, 
The plans I Ve made for better or for worse. 
My opportunities are quite hedged in, 
It seems that all my hopes can ever win 

Is disappointment ; still I strive to feel 
That in the balance scales of woe and weal 
The latter shows a ponderous per cent. 
Of happiness and blessings kindly lent. 

My latest resolution forms this plan : 

I now will do whatever best I can, 

Nor think of the proverbial " Might have been. " 

I hope so much that you will soon begin 



38 louise Thompson's works. 

To grow quite well, and find such pleasure 
Within Time's gala groves of hazy leisure, 
As will refresh your mind, regale your weary 

members, 
So that you '11 find no more such dull Decembers. 

You know that we are both distinguished talkers, 
And had I found you in at Dr. Walker's — 
The effect of such a meeting is uncertain ; 
We surely would have raised the transient cur- 
tain 

On phantom hopes and happiness ethereal, 
And quite forgotten matters more material. 
I find you much in favor of the land 
That hugs with warm embrace the tropic band ; 

You love its warmth and spicy flowers. 
There may be many haunted bowers 
That breathe in whispers to the birds 
That nestle in them of the words 

That fell like sweetest echo softly carried 
Upon your heart and that there has tarried. 



LETTERS. 39 

I fear the South land holds a captive heart; 
At least it claims a mighty part 

Of your affections ; for your mind 

Seems almost hopelessly entwined 

About a hope that points a patient finger 

To where the pleasant South winds sigh to linger. 

I wish you well, where'er your fancies lead you, 
Although I always feel how much I need 

you 
Near to my heart, before my adoring eyes, 
For in your very presence sweetest influence lies. 

You have many loving hearts to gladden, 
Some loving ones you needs must sadden; 
What is my loss counts for another's gain, 
But this can ne'er my longings quite restrain. 

And now I shall not see you ere the dawn 
Of the approaching birthday morn 
Of our once dead, now risen Friend, 
And so I herein wish to send 



4-0 LOUISE THOMPSON S WORKS. 

My Christmas wish for the present year : 
I wish you every blessing and good cheer. 
If there be any happiness adrift 
With powers so potent it can rift 

The gloom that hangs about affliction's seat, 
I trust that it may make your joys complete. 
May Friendship's gifts be strewn with lavish 

splendor 
About your heart, and all that 's gay and tender 

Within you be aroused to live in tune 
With Xmas bells or singing birds in June ; 
I know your cup of pleasure will run over 
If from each point where you may claim a lover 

The silent yearnings of a mute devotion 
Finds heart's ease in the happy notion 
Of speaking love through voiceless things — 
Such pretty things as Xmas brings. 

I hope to soon receive a letter 
From you, and promise to do better 



LETTERS. 41 

The next time I attempt to write. 
I now will have to say, good night ; 

Trust me your most devoted friend, 
And one whose love can never end. 
Write just as often as you please 
To your admiring friend, 

Louise. 
Mailed December 20, 1887. 



TO A LADY FRIEND AND SCHOOL- 
MATE ANTICIPATING A TRIP 
TO NEW YORK. 

[Farewell Greeting, Summer of 1888.] 

Fair friend, we greet thy coming absence ; 

Although we '11 miss your happy face, 
We would not rob you of the pleasure 

Of travel, though we mourn each trace 
That hints of when you were among us 

In budding womanhood that grew 



42 LOUISE THOMPSON S WORKS. 

In breath of praise and shower of favor 
That on your life rare promise threw. 

You have done well ; we grant you respite 

From active usefulness awhile ; 
Go, breathe the sweet Atlantic breezes, 

And charm New Yorkers with your smile. 
No one, we 're sure, could do more credit 

To those you there will represent ; 
And so we 're glad your leisure season 

Will be so gladly, gayly spent. 

You are alive to sense of beauty — 

They say that what we bring we find; 
Hence all that's grand in art and nature 

Will meet reflection in your mind. 
We know your life to be so fearless 

And daring in your mind's firm might ; 
Yours is a spirit all undaunted 

That strives for intellectual light, 

And will not waver, though mean barriers 
Arise to hide you from success ; 



LETTERS. 43 

We know you will not stop at failure 
By looking on the shapeless strife. 

A little trip, a few months' visit 

What sequel holds it? Who can tell? 

The happiest, gayest, best and brightest, 
We wish for thee, sweet friend, farewell. 
We bid farewell. 



TO BELLA. 

[Dedicatory.] 

'T is sweetest joy for me to know 

That on your own home hearth will glow 

The fire your love has lit, 

That in the love-sick eventide 

You '11 undisturbed sit side by side 

And watch the shadows flit 

Across the shadow-painted floor, 

Nor fear some stranger at the door 

Will catch the secret sweets 






44 LOUISE THOMPSON S WORKS. 

Of treasured nothings, softly said 

In boldest confidence, instead 

Of fluttering heart-beats, 

Lest some chance lover's whispered word 

By alien ears might be o'erheard 

And lost on breath of scorn ; — 

Tis true that dread of such alarm 

Does Hymen's lovers untold harm 

And murders joys unborn. 

Yes, little woman, girlish wife, 

I think 't is best your wedded life 

Be thus alone begun, 

Your sweet, resplendent, love-bright home ! 

What captive man could wish to roam 

From such a happy one? 

Not he, I ? m sure, who placed you there, 

A queen upon a throne so fair 

And one so absolute ; 

Your lives their empire and their throne 

Have both to one in union grown 

From clasped and blended root — 



TO BELLA. 45 

Affection's root by some frail chance 
Of fate, or natural circumstance, 
From germ to blossom grown. 

The fragrance of its opening flower 

Will sweeter grow from hour to hour, 

Until it stands full-blown, 

A perfect plant of changeless hue, 

That waves its broad leaves over you, 

And casts its petals free 

About your feet in playful haste ; 

Not one shall suffer loss or waste, 

Nor rob the parent tree 

Of loveliness nor lavish grace. 

Perpetual summer will replace 

The present for the past, 

And when in future you look back 

Upon the blossom-scattered track 

Of pleasures Time has cast, 

You '11 wonder that so small a seed 

Should grow and tower above the weed 

Of coarser worldly things. 



46 louise Thompson's works. 

And if its shadow floats upon 

The earth beneath, it is the dawn 

Of memory it brings. 

Yes, I am glad that love's warm power 

Shall coax the bud into the flower 

Beneath home's happy skies ; 

No foreign breeze shall waft its blooms 

Beyond your own familiar rooms, 

Where sway the silken ties — 

The twisted cord of blended lives 

That circumstance still lifts and drives, 

But can not e'er divide 

The threads, whose union make their strength, 

All down the interwoven length 

That spans life's restless tide. 



TO A DEAR FRIEND. 47 



TO A DEAR FRIEND. 

One day when my books grew tiresome 

And life wore a dull-grey hue, 
And my thoughts were sometimes gloomy, 

And sometimes rested on you, 

You came and sat by my window, 
Nor seemed you in haste to go, 

But quietly sat and rested 

While we watched the wavelets throw 

Their transient but true caresses 

Upon the out-reaching shore, 
That a sheen of evening sunlight 

Quietly, smilingly wore. 

Peace hovered above the landscape, 
And soothed the breast of the lake, 

And silently thro' my nature 
I felt a new peace awake, 



48 Louise Thompson's works. 

A peace that was sweet tho' saddened, 
For at times your words were sad, 

But I felt my heart drawn nearer 
To you by the grief you had. 

There was that in your quiet presence 
That silently filled my soul 

With a joy that was new and mighty 
As the tides that leeward roll. 

Life, earth, air, waves and sunlight 
All glowed with a new-caught ray, 

And night in starless darkness 
Seemed only a softer day. 

For the light within was steadfast, 
Over all it glanced and shone, 

And nowhere howe'er lonely 
Did I feel myself alone. 

The life that I oft had valued 

An indigent gift at best, 
Grew marvelous then and cherished — 

I felt that it had been blessed. 



TO A DEAR FRIEND. 49 

Now I know why I had not cherished 
The life that has grown so sweet ; 

*T was because Time had not chosen 
Its perfectness to complete. 

But now I have felt its fullness — 

Such rapture as love can give, 
And I crave no other portion 

Than always to love and live. 

September 25, 1888. 



DEDICATED TO MY MOTHER. 

Of mother love what is there yet untold 

More than the coming cycles can unfold 

Of sacrifice and service so divine, 

So true and so unselfishly sublime 

That tongue nor pen may answer the demand 

For utterance of gratitude, nor say 

How great the service done, how smooth the way 

O'er which we go when guided by her hand, 



50 louise Thompson's works. 

Who smoothed the earliest wrinkles from our 

cot 
And never our great baby griefs forgot. 
My mother's faithful service for her child 
Has left me of life's sorest ills beguiled; 
And hers has been a never-ceasing care 
So often heightened by the dark despair 
Of separation which she thought she could not 

bear. 
She said, if He would in his mercy spare 
Her from that grief, the burden of her prayer — 

The prayer that's been my constant unseen 

guide 
When tempted far away by foolish pride, 
Away from home and precious mother's side 
Into the world so cruel, cpld and wide. 

It must be in answer to her earnest prayer 
This growing tenderness I feel, 
Which I have often tried to half conceal 
Thinking to tell her all sometime, somewhere, 
But ever timid yielded to delay, 



TO MY MOTHER. 5 I 

Until I chanced to light upon this way 
Of easy utterance to crowded thought, 
So long confined and rich with comfort fraught 
For her whose searching love has sought 
That boon, more precious far than aught 
Of priceless treasure freely brought 
Unto her feet and heaped above her high 
As soaring eagle could attempt to fly. 



FORGETFULNESS. 

i. 
Great and fair are the unsought treasures, 

Rich the forgotten beauties that rest, 
And many the unremembered pleasures 

That slumber within oblivion's breast. 
ii. 
Few are the pangs that seek to slumber, 

Pleasures like dew on the wild flowers melt, 
And sorrows so far exceed in number 
The happiness that our hearts have felt. 



52 louise Thompson's works. 

hi. 
Then sweet are the things that Time has hidden 

Beneath oblivion's cold, dark waves, 
And bitter the things that come forbidden 

From memory's half-made, open graves. 

IV. 

Why bury the dearest and the sweetest 

Of life's best gifts in forgetfulness? 
For pain is slowest and pleasure fleetest 

Of all emotions that curse or bless. 
v. 
I '11 snatch swift pleasures from hidden places, 

And bury grief 'neath the magic stream 
That covers forever and effaces 

The treasures that lie 'neath its sullen gleam. 

VI. 

I '11 wear on my heart a wreath of roses, 

And cast to the waves the thorns they wear ; 

There where beauty and joy reposes, 
I '11 fling the evil and keep the fair. 



DEAD HOPE. 53 



DEAD HOPE. 



The storm has passed o'er lake and land 
And left the lifeless chill of death 

Along its course where wailing stand 
The wood, stirred by its fitful breath. 

The clouds have swept in haste away ; 

They could not rest upon the lake 
In peace reflected where they play 

The winds that over its bosom break. 

Winds wail and waves moan on the shore, 

And all is chill and saddening ; 
The earth has lost the smile she wore, 

The air is laden with a sting. 

My soul is chilled, too, and grief-tossed 
The storm has burst and passed it o'er 

And now it waits for hopes love lost 

Upon Time's far-stretched, treacherous shore. 

f 



54 louise Thompson's works. 

Some hearts grow hand in hand with pain ; 

While suffering they still enjoy 
A pleasure they alone attain, 

And one no future can destroy. 

The shadows float upon the lawn, 
Creations of the sun and shade, 

So joy and sadness rest upon 

My heart with shadows overlaid. 

Sweet eyes have looked beyond my own 
And left their sunshine in my heart, 

Whose cold, swift glances now disown 
The love they once did well impart. 

A loving clasp from soft, warm hands, 

Still unforgotten now is all 
That thrills the chords it still commands, 

And wakens thoughts beyond recall. 

My heart is heavy, sad and sore, 

But will not, can not hate nor blame 

The one it loved, loves ever more 
In tenderness and truth the same, 



DEAD HOPE. 55 

Ache on, poor, unloved, clinging heart, 
But keep thy secret well secured ; 

Estrangement has no keener dart, 

Than that which now has been endured. 
Lakewood y N. F., August 22, 1888. 



WHEN I AM GONE. 

[Dedicated to my Mother.] 

When I have shed the worn-out husk 

In which my mortal life did dwell, 
And in the evening sombre dusk 

You sit and yield unto the spell 
Of mournful memories that speak 

Of when you kissed my death-cold cheek 
And wailed your saddest, last farewell, 

Remember then that my desire 
Is not that you should nurture grief, 

But following rosy hope mount higher, 
On trusting love and strong belief; 

And, knowing that the state of death 



56 louise Thompson's works. 

Is but suspension of our breath, 

Accept the truth that yields relief 
From hopeless sorrow ; for we know 

That separation will not last 
Thro' vast eternity, and though 

It does a fleeting shadow cast 
On hearts bereft of much-loved friends, 

They '11 be the happier when it ends, 
And glow the brighter when 'tis past. 

If day should ne'er fade into night 
But hang forever in the sky, 

Our eyes would ache from constant light; 
For restful darkness soon we 'd sigh. 

We soon would be at bitter strife 
Against the safeguard of our life, 

And, overcome with sunshine, die. 
And so 'twould be if we were free 

From death's cold darkened sleep ; 
The light of God's eternity 

Will fall on those who weep 
The shadows of their hearts away, 

With purer and more steadfast ray ; 
And joy, more rich and deep, 



WHEN I AM GONE. 57 

Than can be known to those whose eyes 
Were dazzled by the blinding rays 

Of happiness from pleasure's skies, 
That were with joy ablaze, 

So constantly they could not see 
A shadow of the agony 

Of Christ before their gaze. 
When I am gone I know your heart 

Will sadden with a silent woe, 
And oft your willful teardrops start 

To ease the pain that burns below. 
Then when your thoughts are dark and sad 

Let hope steal in and make them glad 
With light of truth in heaven's glow ; 

With charity's employment sweet 
Beguile the tediousness of years ; 

'Twill make your grief with joy replete 
And change the bitter salt of tears 

To sweetest sadness, while you live 
For duty, and ungrudging give 

Your service to the faith that rears 
A monument of noble deeds 

Of adamantine firmness set 



58 louise Thompson's works. 

Upon the pedestal of needs, 

Hoe-shaped and rough and dripping wet 
With tears of sympathy from heaven, 

From out of sorrow's storm-clouds driven 
By blast of loss with patience met 

Yield not to sombre, selfish grief, 
But rather labor and aspire 

To lend some failing soul relief, 
And start again the dying fire 

Of love within some frozen breast ; 
For after labor cometh rest 

And service that can never tire. 

Mourn not for me as one whose soul 
Is past the mercy of His grace; 

The silver cord and golden bowl 
Of life I trust He will replace, 

Where naught can loose the cord, nor break 

The golden bowl, when I awake 
To see the beauties of His face. 



LOST AND FOUND IN A CROWDED DEPOT. 59 



LOST AND FOUND IN A CROWDED 
DEPOT. 

One winter evening about dusk, a little boy 
stood apart from the jostling crowd, sobbing 
violently ; no one seemed to notice the child, 
nor be stirred to pity by his distress. Every 
one was intent on going or coming; policemen 
were busy at the gates and entrances, for it 
was the evening hour of out-going and in-com- 
ing trains, and the passing travelers in their in- 
discriminate movements formed a veritable 
human vortex. Presently there emerged from 
this conglomerate mass of humanity a very 
stately lady dressed in deep mourning and hav- 
ing about her an air of ease and deliberation. 
No sooner had she entered the department in 
which the sobbing child stood than she ap- 
proached him and commenced questioning him ; 
his answers, however, were very unsatisfactory 
at first. He could neither tell his name nor that 



60 louise Thompson's works. 

of the place in which he had liv- d. But he 
said he had come a long way on a big buzzing 
train and that his papa had started with him, 
and once, when the train stopped for just a 
little while, his papa said he would go out and 
get him something to eat, but he never came 
back, and then, looking imploringly through 
his tears at his lately found friend, the famished 
child said: M I never got anything to eat for he 
didn't come back, and I'm hungry yet." 
"Come with me and we will find plenty for 
hungry little boys to eat," she said, taking his 
hand in hers and leading him to the eating 
room. 

After having satisfied his hunger, the name- 
less child fell asleep almost before his bene- 
factress could conduct him to the ladies' waiting 
room. 

It was a complete relaxation of his tired 
nerves and famished system, and he slept a heavy 
sleep that was hard to break. Mrs. Mason, 
the child's new protectress, was glad that he 
slept, for she wished to study his face before 



LOST AND FOUND IN A CROWDED DEPOT. 6 1 

deciding upon any future course in regard to him. 
As he lay with his head resting on her lap and 
his little limbs stretched upon the sofa upon 
which she sat, she gazed at his sleeping face 
and thought it very pretty. His long, brown 
lashes shadowed smooth, rounded cheeks that 
were pale only from the fatigue he had endured. 
His nose was slightly aquiline and his chin 
firm. His mouth had all the tender curves and 
rosy sweetness that make girls lips so sweet to 
kiss, and Mrs Mason noticed this,thinking how 
indicative it was of affection, the love of 
pleasure and cheerfulness, and how the man- 
lier qualities were wanting in the child's phy- 
siognomy. 

Mrs. Mason had to wait at the depot several 
hours in order to make the desired connection, 
and she let the little sleeper have a long un- 
disturbed nap. When he awoke at last she 
commenced trying artfully to get his name and 
his story. "Well, Georgie, did you have a 
nice nap?" she said, as the little fellow drew 
himself up and tried to rub the sleep from his 



62 louise Thompson's works. 

eyes. He looked at her wonderingly for a 
moment and then said with lofty emphasis : 
■J Georgie isn't my name ! my name is Hugh." 
" Oh, certainly, I just made a little mistake, 
that is all. I shall always call you Hugh here- 
after, but what else shall I call you ? You have 
two names, haven't you?" inquired Mrs. 
Mason. "Yes, I have three: Hugh Eastley 
Whitney is my name ; that 's my name and 
mamma's and papa's name all put together," 
exclaimed Hugh. "Well, now let me see, 
where did you say you lived?" "We live in 
the city, " returned Hugh, with the conscious- 
ness that his answer had given complete satis- 
faction. " But what is the name of the city," 
asked Mrs. M. "It's ' the city,' that 's what 
papa and mamma always said, " answered Hugh 
conclusively, and it was many years before Mrs. 
Mason learned the name of that city. "Are 
you going to take me home? " inquired Hugh, 
as he was lifted up to the platform on Mrs. 
Mason's home-bound train. "Yes, dear," she 
said, "we are going home." " Oh, I don't 



LOST AND FOUND IN A CROWDED DEPOT. 63 

want to go back there any more, he beats us 
so; please don't take me home!" "Hush, 
child," whispered Mrs. Mason, M I '11 take you 
to my home, and he wont find you there." 
Hugh fell to wondering about his new home 
and, in the silence of his reveries, he fell asleep, 
nor did he again waken, until the train stopped 
in the city of his new home. 

UNFINISHED. 

[Written about six weeks before the death of the writer, 
this being her last production. Her health failed so rapidly 
that she was not able to complete it. It was a story for boys, 
intended for the Youths' Companion. 



A DREAM OF DEATH. 

I, wandering down life's taper lane 
'Mong thorns and flowers it doth contain, 
Grew weary in each trembling limb 
And looking on the distant, dim, 
Uncertain way, I grew so faint 
I paused and uttered this complaint: 



64 Louise Thompson's works. 

* ' Oh, life, thou art so long and drear ; 
Along thy path such ills appear; 
My heart is sick, I'm dizzy grown, 
The way is dark and I alone, 
My hope and energy are gone — 
I can not — care not to go on. 

I sat down on a shady mound 
And gazed, half blindly, all around ; 
The lane of life was closed and barred, 
And death approached with kind regard. 

He wore a splendid restful dress ; 
His countenance was comeliness, 
His brow was pale, but sweet, serene, 
And gentle were his voice and mien. 
He paused a little off from me 
Beneath the umbrage of a tree, 

And from that point he fixed his gaze 
On me, thro' the thick stiffling haze, 
I felt its mighty, quiet charm, 
But felt no fear, pain or alarm- 



A DREAM OF DEATH. 6$ 

I thought that should death deign to keep 
His eyes on me I soon could sleep, 
Nor wake again to tread the sod 
I oft so wearily had trod. 

I wished that death would come more near, 
His presence filled my heart with cheer ; 
But soon he rose and soon withdrew. 
I had no heart to then renew 

My journey down life's narrow lane, 
But could no longer there remain, 
So I arose and journeyed on 
Tho' weak and frail, and sad and wan. 

The skies began to smile and beam — 
(I thought perhaps I'd had a dream) 
My weariness I felt no more 
All wayside rest I did ignore. 

The robin carolled out his song 
As by his perch I passed along, 
The blossoms that my eager feet 
Trod down, sent out a fragrance sweet. 



66 louise Thompson's works. 

The air once stiff with that thick haze, 
Was warm with love and stirred with praise. 
My heart grew stout and glad and gay 
As I pursued life's pleasant way. 

Some like myself had grown so tired 
That without rest they had expired. 
I saw them resting in the shade 
And unto them, at length I made 
A sign for them to follow me, 
I craved their helpful company. 

Then leisurely in groups we went, 
And each one did in turns invent 
Some pastime for the restless crowd 
Whose mirth grew freer and more loud ; 
And others came up from the rear 
And joined us in our mirth and cheer. 

I almost wished the wicket gate 
Might not be reached, or not till late; 
I wished life's lane had been a ring, 
Or some eternal, endless thing. 



A DREAM OF DEATH. 6*J 

A thousand years were not too much 

Nay not enough of pleasure such 

As filled my heart and charmed my eyes, 

Earth seemed to me a Paradise 

Embedded in a mass of bloom 

That flung the rich breath of perfume 

Upon the sweet, carressing air ; 

I saw the shadow of a snare. 

Before me then I saw arise 

A face that had familiar eyes, 

But then a different countenance wore. 

Where had I seen that face before? 

Ah, I remembered, it had shone 
On me, when sad and all alone, 
I rested by the green roadside, 
When noon to me was eventide ; 
But still I thought how very strange 
That there should be so great a change 

In death, I thought so very fair, 

Who now looked like black browed despair. 



68 louise Thompson's works. 

His eyes were keen, and small and cold, 
His garments black, and thin and old. 

He seemed a monster to be feared, 
So lowering his brow appeared ; 
I shrank in chilling horror back 
And longingly I viewed the track 

Of life that seemed to me so sweet, 
Since I had been destined to meet 
With death, when life had filled my heart 
With all the sweets it could impart. 



KING DAVID AT THE GATE. 

["Then the king arose, and sat in the gate " II. Sam. xix. 8]. 

I. 

Then the king arose and sat in the gate, 
But his heart still ached for Absolorn's fate; 
However depressed tho' he there must wait 
For the coming of Israel, proud elate, 
Of the battle won. 



KING DAVID AT THE GATE. 69 

They came in masses, each one from his tent, 
Their presence unto the king to present; 
The gathering splendor of servants sent 
Thro' the heart of David a pain half spent 

For his murdered son. 
11. 
The shouts of triumph to him was a dirge, 
The flags of victory flapped o'er the verge 
Of death's dark chasm from which will emerge 
The ghost of a grief that will smite and scourge 

The heart of the king. 
How he had loved that curly-haired boy 
Whose beauty to all was a soul-stirring joy, 
How could the stone-hearted Joab destroy 
Beauty so wondrous and free from alloy, 

So perfect a thing, 
in. 
A mist would gather before the king's eyes, 
And out of its dimness a form would arise 
With radiant face and soft, pleading eyes 
Such as can make thro' their glances replies, 

To flatter and charm. 
Deaf was the king to the praise of his name, 



yO LOUISE THOMPSON S WORKS. 

Blind to the glittering warriors that came ; 
The voices of triumph were hollow with blame, 
But he welcomed his followers all the same 
While he mourned the harm 

IV. 

That had come to his fair, but treacherous son, 
At the close of the fight in Ephraim begun. 
He whose fairness was rivaled by none 
Lay scarred and disfigured — his wild race was 
run — 

Under heaps of stones. 
He slept, nor dreamed again of the power 
He had hoped to grasp in that fatal hour 
When his heart was pierced by a poison shower 
Of arrows — he fell like a broken flower 
'Neath the weight of thrones. 



A SERAPH SERENADE. J I 



A SERAPH SERENADE. 

An invalid girl lay dying — 

She was fading away with day 
The swift life moments were flying 

From her pain-fettered life away. 

She craved the music of singing 

And quickly a few singers came, 
But list! they hear the faint winging 

Of singers, but see not the same. 

The music grew sweeter, clearer, 
As downward it floats on the wings 

Of night that is drawing nearer 
To where the celestial choir sings. 

Earthward the singers are sweeping, 

Their serenade floats on the air, 
It hovers about the weeping 

Ones, and blends with their wailing prayer. 



72 LOUISE THOMPSON S WORKS. 

Not long the seraph choir hovers 
Above the pure soul they release, 

Their coming and flight soon covers 

The bereaved ones with comfort and peace. 

To them those guests were a token 

Of favor bestowed from the sky ; 
It healed the hearts that were broken 

And brightened the mourners' sad eye. 

A life of patience was ended ; 

The lips that had never complained 
Of pain, but ever defended 

The Christ whose favor she gained, 

Had uttered their last petition, 

A prayer for music and song — 
She had no need of contrition 

Who had blushed to speak of a wrong. 

The discords of pain and waiting 

Dispersed on the song-laden air 
That whispered of joys awaiting 

The pure and redeemed " over there/' 



A SERAPH SERENADE. 73 

EXPLANATION. 

These lines were written on hearing of the death of an in- 
valid girl, (disease rheumatism of the heart). The story was 
told to the writer in her own room, whether true or false, as it 
may be. The sick and dying girl desired a few select singers 
to sing to her, while passing away. The singers were sent for 
immediately, but, before they could get there, she exclaimed : 
" I hear them singing ! " 'Twas said that others heard the same, 
while no one could be seen in the distance ; she was gone ere 
her friends reached her home. 



LINES TO A FLIRT. 

Is life so long, Time so far-reaching 

That man may spend long years, beseeching 

A woman for her heart's affection 

With promises of his protection, 

Love and support, and true devotion, 

Only to laugh at her emotion ? 

How very small must be the pleasure 
Afforded by the long-sought treasure, 
Won by disgraceful, mean endeavor, 
Which, having bound, you quickly sever ! 



74 lOUise Thompson's works. 

I doubt not if the smaller gain 
Be yours, and stilt the greater pain 
May linger in the wounded heart 
You tortured with your evil art. 

Oh foolish trifler, count the cost 
Of precious moments you have lost, 
In adding to your tarnished name 
A deeper tinge of sinful shame : 

Then add to that the silent woe 
That over other lives you throw, 
So that the value of the prize 
You cast away before her eyes 

Who knew how eagerly you sought 
The treasure that cannot be bought ; 
And then subtract the mighty sum 
From opportunities that come 

To you, unheeded, unembraced, 
With treasures that might be replaced 
For those you've wasted just for fun, 
After they have been so dearly won, 



LINES TO A FLIRT. 75 

And you will have a balance left, 
Of nearly naught, and be bereft 
Of anything of which to boast ; 
For the remainder is almost 
As large a nothing as could be 
For human life a living plea. 

Oh shameful, vain, and idle toil ! 
Whose only aim is to despoil 
The profits of some earnest life, 
And pierce as with a sharpened knife 
Some trusting, unsuspicious heart, 
Unguarded 'gainst the hidden dart. 

You dig the ditch in which you fall, 
And mock the hours you can 't recall, 
Fast fleeting hours, whose onward chase 
You cannot turn, nor make retrace 

The ground o'er which you went amiss : — 
You can't give back that perjured kiss 
That sealed the lie upon your lips, 
Nor warm to life the finger tips 



j6 louise Thompson's works. 

That used to blush within your grasp ; 
For frozen is the firmer clasp 

Whose strong and unrelentless hold 
Will not release the ring of gold 
You placed upon her dimpled finger, 
That oft caressingly would linger 
Within your own responsive hand, 
Wearing that false engagement band, 

O, shame again, disfigured man! 

Made after God's divinest plan, 

That crowns this treasure-house, our globe; 

That you should boldly here unrobe 

Your life of all that is divine, 

Or even manly and benign, 

Is greater shame than I can paint ; 
I cannot frame enough complaint 
To tinge my words with what I feel 
For him who will unjustly deal 
With what is sacred and above 
Deserving pain from his false love. 
April 7, 1888. 



THE PERFUME OF LILACS. JJ 

THE PERFUME OF LILACS. 

Written April 30, 1888. 

DEDICATED TO MY VERY DEAR FRIEND GERTRUDE. 

"In the spring a joung man's fancy 

Lightly turns to thoughts of love.— Tennyson. 

My heart sits still the whole year 'round 
Until the purple lilacs bloom : 

Their fragrance makes it swiftly bound — 
A soft voice breathes in their perfume. 

For memory on their fragrance soars 
Far back unto another Spring ; 

And with her magic art restores 
Some pleasures Time can never bring. 

I see the cotton-festooned trees 
Above the shady, quiet street ; 

And drink the lilac-scented breeze 
That made the twilight air so sweet. 



78 louise Thompson's works. 

And mingled with the purple dress 
Of lilacs is the pink and white 

Of apple bloom — its loveliness 
Against a starlit summer night. 

And when the scenes of that brief hour 
Grow clear again as those I see, 

My heart is stirred with love's first power, 
I love again in memory. 

Two pleading eyes melt into mine, 
The pressure of a soft, warm hand 

Around my own I feel him twine, 
And then I hear myself command 

My love to loose that gentle hold — 
I know not why — I cannot tell — 

My heart was not yet over bold, 
But still I loved my love too well. 

And most of all I now recall 

Our parting — for it was the first 

That left my life devoid of all 

The sweets that quench the young heart's 
thirst. 



THE PERFUME OF LILACS. 79 

I felt as though a star had risen, 

Arid by its light had led me on, 
Until it left me in a prison, 

From which its precious light had gone. 

But then that sadness was more sweet 
Than pleasure e' er had been, the pain 

Of parting told that we should meet 
With fuller, warmer hearts again. 

That was the first time that our eyes 
Bespoke the love words could not tell ; 

To both it was a sweet surprise 

To find that both were loved so well. 

And love grew in our hearts for years, 
Against the blows of hate took root ; 

And mine was purified by tears 
And rules a monarch, absolute. 

But his frail heart was shaped by change, 

I saw the hateful work go on ; 
But never knew what did estrange 

His love, that soon was spent and gone. 



8o louise Thompson's works. 

And when his love grew cold, it chilled 
My own that died the death of grief; 

The void it left has not been filled ; 
For death of love there's no relief. 

But when in Spring the lilac bloom 
Enriches the sweet-scented breeze, 

My heart grows young in its perfume, 
In dreams of happier days than these. 

Long as their breath is fresh and sweet 
I drink it in from off my breast ; 

And dream — although my dream is fleet- 
Of hours that were more brief and blest. 



TO BELLA. 

Feb. 14. 1888. 



My dearest love, I've not been dead, but sleep- 
ing, 

And while the skies above me droop with 
weeping 



TO BELLA. 8 1 

For Spring's return, I catch the lonely feeling 
And dream of you, while memory 's softly stealing 
Unto the spot of tenderest recollection. 

I have forgot the legendary story 
That sheds such wide halo of fadeless glory 
About this cold, short month, and closely hovers 
About this day so sacred to all lovers. 
I know your love is given to another, 
But cannot with that knowledge smother 
The faithful fondness of my lost affection, 
Which lives in its destined connection ; 

Nor mourns for great return of warm devotion 
Of its supremest, most intense emotion. 
Since it is best to turn from past relations 
And not indulge in vain procrastinations, 
I will not dwell on any warmth of feeling 
That stirs my heart for you, its fountains sealing 
To check the flow in channels love forbidden, 
Wherein lie mysteries forever hidden. 

But I will strike the chord that echoes clearer, 
A cadence sweeter, richer, fuller, dearer 



82 louise Thompson's works. 

Than single chimes of girlish fascinations, 

(If I may touch upon such fond relation) 

Of human hearts as entered the primeval 

Paradise, and, pure itself, wrought evil 

To that first man, who, frenzied with affection 

Tasted its fruits, much to his dire dejection 

They say that Eve was Adam's preference 
To Heaven ; without her, — but in reference 
To that, I have my own philosophy, 
And think it may have been from curiosity 
That Adam yielded to the sweet temptation, 
Urged with such power of presentation. 

Can evil come of good, or good of evil ? 
The answer must explain this old romance pri- 
meval, 
For if man's love of woman brought the sorrow 
Of sin upon us, we can surely borrow 
From that strong evidence that evil entered 
The world through love ; and this has plainly 

centered 
The blame so heavy, it outweighs the ages, 



TO BELLA. 83 

And sin, so dire that death is all its wages, 
Upon the one love that we deem the strongest — 
Although it does n't always last the longest. 
I clear love of the blame : the man was tempted 
No doubt by vanity, all love exempted ; 
For don't you know he yet was in the blind- 
ness (?) 
Of ignorance, dispelled by her prompt kindness. 

It may have been desire to be her equal, 

(I reason only from the sinful sequel), 

Or, since they say the road that leads the nearest 

To man's stout heart and all he holds as dearest, 

Lies through his mighty organs of digestion, 

I may be safe in making this suggestion : — 
That for his stomach's sake our father tasted 
The sweets for which his heaven he rashly wasted. 
Of course there's much of speculation 
In all that I may say in approbation 
Of wedded bliss, its round of pleasures, 
Responsibilities of added treasures: 
To all such wild delights I am a stranger; 



84 louise Thompson's works. 

From which sad fact accrues the awful danger 
Of failure on my part to render perfect duty 
Of poesy to the transcendant beauty 
Of any theme so foreign to my feelings : — 
I'm not familiar with its sweet revealings. 

My Valentine is for your other lover, 
Hoping you will with helpful kindness cover 
Its many wants and brightly shining errors, 
Its limping rhymes and rhetorical terrors. 

THE VALENTINE. 

Dear heart so true and kind, sweet eyes by love 

made blind 

To faults of mine, 

I love you more to-day, than verse, or song, or lay 

Can e'er define. 

My love is more secure, 'tis stronger and more 

pure 

Than when apart 

We bridged the space with dreams, of pleas- 
ure's wild extremes, 

And heart met heart, 



TO BELLA. THE VALENTINE. 85 

Across the cruel space, that hid your dear, 
sweet face 

From my sad eyes 
For vain, prolonged delay, I have regrets to pay 

To wifely ties. 
To you I justly owe, more than you can e'er 
know 

Of recompense : 
More than can be repaid, for years when I, afraid 

Of every sense 
Love-fraught and strange and new that drew 
me nearer you 

Did hesitate 
To recognize the need of being yours indeed, 

But chose to wait : 
And, waiting, wanted peace, but could not find 
surcease 

Of anxious fears, 
Until your loving arms shut out the dread 
alarms 

Of coming years. 
One heart's enough for me, it will faithful be, 
And I am sure 



86 LOUISE THOMPSON^ WORKS. 

That yours will be to me a shield of constancy 

That will endure 
Against the blasts of fate, that may in secret wait 

A hateful hour, 
When heaven and earth unite, in secret to invite 

Dull sorrow's power. 
I know not that if life,howe'er with pleasures rife 

And gladly gay, 
Were worth the painful cost, if love's sweet joy 
were lost 

Or cast away. 
Sweetheart, this joy I claim, and cherish just 
the same 

As I do life, 
That I shall by thy side, drift down life's sea- 
ward tide 

Your loving wife. 
Above the surge's roar, the stroke of helpful oar 

Shall sweetly fall 
In time to merry tune, beneath our honeymoon, 

Whate'er befall. 
And when we reach the shore, if one has gone 
before 



TO BELLA. THE VALENTINE. 87 

To smooth the way, 
We'll meet upon the strand, of Beulah's glori- 
ous land, 

And bless the day 
When first in nuptial mirth, and joy on living 
earth 

We joined our hands, 
And pledged our marriage vows, crowning our 
youthful brows 

With love's bright bands. 
In every erring line of this my Valentine 

I fail to find 
Expression full and strong, the muse is surely 
wrong 

Or else unkind. 
Perhaps my weary brain, cannot in full explain 

The ebb and flow 
Of my poor, o'erfraught heart, but only catches 

part 

Of its bright glow. 



88 louise Thompson's works. 

MARCH SNOW STORM. 

1888. 

The feathery snow fairies 

Are weaving Winter s shroud, 

As they ride on the March wind 
That whistles shrill and loud 

The funeral dirge of Winter 

That soon must yield to Spring, 

When the robin that is snow-bound 
No more, will dart and sing 

Of the coming joys of Summer 
Asleep in the budding earth, 

Awaiting yellow harvest 
To give her treasures birth. 

The tender Easter lilies 

Rise green above the snow; 

The pretty, emerald carpet 
Of grass has ceased to grow ; 



MARCH SNOW STORM. 89 

While Winter flings his farewell 

Caress upon the ground, 
And sheds his frozen teardrops 

In crystal beauty 'round. 

Fair Spring, in disappointment 

Has hid her smiling face 
Beneath the frozen splendor 

And cold, majestic grace 

Of Winter's crystal garments 

That soon will melt away, 
In warmth of April showers 

And soft sunshine of May. 

Farewell, then, dying season, 

We take thy parting hand ; 
Although it makes us shiver 

We loyally will stand 

By thee until the green sod 

Of warmer days has spread 
A happy floral tribute 

Of blossoms o'er thy bed. 



gO LOUISE THOMPSON S WORKS. 

We hear thy lamentations, — 
We hear thy deep-drawn sighs, 

And see thy heavy mourning 
Draped darkly o'er the skies 

That mock thy grief in secret, 

And cunningly disguise 
Their smiles, at thy sad mourning 

While planning a surprise 

That will with sunny welcome 
Bid sleeping Spring arise, 

And, crowned the Queen of Seasons, 
Reign mildly from her throne, 

With bright and growing beauty, 
To dull decay unknown. 



LIFE IN DEATH. 9 1 



LIFE IN DEATH. 



Sweet smiles and mirth, and joys of earth 

No longer brighten 
My shadowed life, with death at strife, 

My soul to lighten 
From weight of pain, and error's stain, 

That long has hidden 
From my frail sight, the fuller light 

By doubts forbidden. 
Affliction's pace has left my face 

No trace of beauty ; 
But should I care more to be fair 

Than to love duty ? 
There is a grace, not in the face, 

Where beauty reigneth, 
The love of right, that seeks the light 

That peace containeth. 
My steps are slow, but gladly go 

Down to the river, 
That must be crossed, by saved and lost, 
Where waits the Giver 



92 louise Thompson's works. 

Of every gift, with power to rift 

The gloom of sorrow. 
I cannot fear, the way is clear 

To that bright morrow, 
Where pain shall cease, and joy increase 

Thro' heavenly ages. 
Of that sweet goal, my struggling soul 

In hope engages. 
Fm growing pale, as near the vale 

My steps are tending, 
But where there blows from Sharon's rose 

A heath-breeze blending, 
In every breath that conquered death, 

My face will brighten ; 
No chilling fear, shall there appear 

My soul to frighten. 
I could not bear, the hard despair 

That I should cherish — 
If while I fade, I were afraid 

My life would perish. 
I know my hands shall break the bands 

Of pulseless slumber, 
And catch the crown, for one sent down 



LIFE IN DEATH. 93 

Among the number 
He shall bestow, on saints below-^- 

The quick and sleeping, 
Who cast the seeds of noble deeds 

For time of reaping. 

April 18, 1888. 



FIRST LOVE. 

" There's no love like the first love," 

I once heard some one say, 
It comes in virgin newness 

Like the tender bloom of May. 
It stirs the heart's fresh fountains 

By a touch unfelt before, 
A touch that thrills with rapture 

To the young heart's inmost core. 

Love's bitter draughts untasted 

Lie deep within its cup, 
When we've quaffed the nectar off, 

The gall comes welling up. 



94 LOUISE THOMPSON S WORKS. 

Of this the heart knows nothing 
When the first love wakes to life; 

The second love is wiser, and 
Prepared for coming strife. 



But the first love is the sweetest, 

And the swiftest in its course, 
All agree to that conclusion 

Who have felt its novel force. 
It shapes the heart it conquers 

In a mould cast out by fate, 
And they grow to love's completeness 

In this mould-encircled state. 

While the heart is young and tender, 

It will keep the form it takes, 
Tho* 'tis prisoned in by sorrow 

And from anguish almost breaks. 
Then the young love is the strongest, 

For it never yields its sway ; 
Tho' another love comes later, 

There is none so wild and gay. 



FIRST LOVE. 95 

There are warm affections rising, 

All along life's winding course, 
Some so strong, and true, and happy 

That we tremble from their force, 
There are times when all our feeling 

Drift toward one we hold most dear, 
But along the tide of feeling 

Floats a sorrow-shaken tear. 

Other loves are checked by wisdom, 

Guided by experience, 
But the first love fills us fully, 

Magnifies our every sense. 
'Long its pathway wreathed in pleasures 

Stalk no ghosts of happier days. 
Free from doubt and full of promise 

Are the hopes its raptures raise. 

Tho' the young love is the freest, 

It is fleetest too ofttimes, 
Withering like the thirsty buds 

That open in the tropic climes 
Sweetest, strongest, and the freest, 

'Tis not happiest, nor best, 



g/6 louise Thompson's works. 

But the fullest, wildest impulse 
That e'er stirs the human breast. 

Radiant, and full of beauty, 
Still it brings no gift of peace 

To the restless heart it conquers, — 
Hearts that scorn to crave release. 

Let it pass with all its wonders, 
Let another rise above 

The grave, where lies buried 

This all-powerful First Love. 
Oct. 20, 1888. 



LINES 



on the centennial anniversary of alexander 
Campbell's birth.* 

One hundred years ago, to-day, 

A new interpreter was given 
To guide us in the perfect way 

That leads thro' Christ to joy and heaven. 



* Read at the Centennial Celebration of that event, at Georgetown. 
O., by J. D. Houston. 



ALEXANDER CAMPBELL. 97 

Thro' childhood's sunrise gates he passed, 
Ferhaps to pleasure's tuneful measure; 

Unmindful of the mission vast 

That lay beyond the groves of pleasure. 

For years he kept the foot-smooth road; 

Went hand in hand with others, 
Until the weight of error's load, 

Still undiscovered by his brothers 

Impressed him with the sense of wrong, 
And turned his feet from paths forbidden, 

And led him to the truth, so long 

From human knowledge meanly hidden. 

His perfect faith and patient trust 

Held him above the creed-paved level, 

O'er which the erring trail in dust 

Christ's vestments sullied by the devil. 

The simple truth, so sweet and old, 

To him was no new revelation. 
He prayed and labored to unfold 

The hidden truths of inspiration. 



98 louise Thompson's works. 

His life and work within the past 
Shine out a beacon-light to guide us, 

Until we make our anchor fast, 

Where rocks and shoals cannot betide us. 

The glory of a hundred years 

Of seed-time and of joyful reaping, 

Around our hero's life appears 

To crown his labor in Time's keeping. 

For this we give our Lord the praise : 
Our faith is free from doubt or trammel; 

On centuries to come let blaze 

The name of Alexander Campbell. 

[Written by request of a friend, J. D. Houston, Pastor of 
the Christian Church, at Georgetown, Ohio, to be read at a 
Centennial Anniversary held at that place, on our hero's birth- 
day, September the 12th, 1888.] 



THE DEATH OF ELSIE THOMPSON. 99 

LINES 

WRITTEN ON THE DEATH OF MY LITTLE ANGEL 
COUSIN, ELSIE THOMPSON. 

[April, 1881.] 

She has passed from among us, in childhood's 

bloom ; 
They have laid her down hi the silent tomb ; 
No more the zephyrs shall pause and play 
In her shining ringlets, for they lay 
All peacefully resting in earth's embrace 
In clustering masses around her face. 

In her laughing eyes of azure light 
Lay no faint shadow of death's dark blight ; 
In her rippling laughter there was no sound 
Of dull decay, or the green grave mound ; 
The sunlight that lit up her brow and eye 
Spoke not of this world, where flowers all die. 

No more our darling shall cheer us here, 
No more her form in the doorway appear, — 



IOO LOUISE THOMPSON S WORKS. 

To the regions of Light and the realms of Love 
The angels have wafted our darling above. 
And there on the strand of the crystal sea 
Our darling shall live through eternity. 

On her sunny brow rests a crown of gold ; 
In her snowy hands a harp she doth hold ; 
Of the fruit of the Tree of Life may eat; 
By the Saviour's side may be found her seat ; 
The land of Beulah her feet have pressed, 
And now in heaven she findeth rest — 

Rest which she might not ever have found, 
Had she in this world, where evils abound, 
Been spared; and thus we know 'tis best 
That our darling has left us at His behest ; 
And we know that among the ransomed there, 
Our loved one dwelleth, an angel fair. 



SPRING S TEACHINGS. 101 



SPRING'S TEACHINGS; OR GOD IN 
NATURE. 

The resurrection of the flower 
Opening in the April shower, 
Does it not lift a living tower 
To the divine, life-giving power, 

Unseen, but felt? 
The little germ that sheds its sheath 
When buried in the earth beneath, 
Will grow and sway above the heath, 
Or help to form the coral wreath, 

Just as we melt 
To dust away within the earth, 
Before the soul's immortal birth, 
That banished all of death's dark dearth 

From that new life. 
The same unerring, viewless hand, 
That into life the flowers has fanned, 
And scattered fragrance o'er the land, 
And warmed the waves upon the strand, 

And quelled the strife 



102 louisk Thompson's works. 

Of Winter's deadly, frozen sway, 
So full of death and cold decay, 
That this bright, budding April day 
Begins to stir with thoughts of May, — 

That hand doth raise 
To life divine, the deathless germ, 
The soul, that for an unknown term 
Shall leave the body to the worm 

And death's dark maze. 
Tho' high above the forms of life 
With which this present world is rife — 
Life that shall perish in the strife 
And fall when the pale reaper's knife, 

In Nature's grasp, 
In time shall deal the last death-blow 
On all that beauty can bestow 
Of loveliness on things that grow 
To elevate the life below, 

And loose the clasp 
Of the outspread and boundless book, 
The universe, on which we look 
For lessons in each shadowed nook, 
So dark and deep we cannot brook 



spring's teachings. 103 

To enter there. 
Although the great created man 
Stands highest in the perfect plan 
That out chaos God began, 
To stretch across the yawning span 

He made so fair, 
Both forms are under his wise sway, 
And both in unison obey 
The laws which, broken, we must pay, 
In some divinely ordained way, 

For trespass made. 



EASTER MEMORIES. 

[March 24, 1888.] 

In memory of the sacred dead 

They laid in Joseph's new-made tomb, 
A few sad mourners came to spread 

The breath of fragrance on the gloom 
That hung above the cold stone grave 

In which his spirit's temple lay 



104 LOUISE THOMPSON S WORKS. 

Destroyed, they thought ; for what could save 

From blight of death, that soulless clay ? 
And so the favored faithful came 

With rising of morning sun, 
And lo! before them rose like flame 

The lightning countenance of one 
Whose raiment was of shining white; 

And who had rolled the stone away, 
Before the secrets of the night 

Had yielded to the search of day. 

The women's hearts were chilled with fear, 
Until the angel watcher said: 
" Your Lord is risen ! he is not here; 

Why seek the living 'mong the dead?" 
"The living?" was his soul restored 
To dwell again within that frame, 
From which his precious blood has poured 
To wash away the world's dark blame ? 

9 T was even so, and they believed 
All that they wonderingly heard ; 

And hurried to the sad and grieved 
Disciples with the glorious word. 



EASTER MEMORIES. 105 

To faith was quickly added sight; 

The Lord appeared, and at his feet 
They fell and worshiped the true Light, 

Whose re-appearance was so sweet. 

Then onward, with rekindled might, 

By faith, and love, and joy supreme, 
They hastened in the morning light, 

With Resurrection for their theme. 
But Peter, filled with hard despair 

And disappointment, and with grief, 
Would not believe He was not there, 

Until his wavering unbelief 
Was lost in wonder, when he saw 

The open and deserted tomb, 

A monument unto the law 

That robs this life of half its gloom. 
'Tis no great wonder that their hearts 

Refused, at first, to open wide 
And drink in all that truth imparts 

Of sacrifice of Him who died 
Upon the cruel Roman cross, 

And then arose, a ransom given, 



106 louise Thompson's works. 

To spare our souls from sinful loss, 

And intercede for us in heaven. 
How might they hope for such a friend ? 

They hoped He had been Israel's king, 
A ruler that their God would send, 

With conquering sword and signet ring. 
But when they saw His spirit's strife, 

The agony that set it free, 
They mourned for Him as one whose life 

Was yielded on the cursed tree. 

They being spiritually blind 

Unto the light of promise given, 
Could not unfold with finite mind 

The meaning of the Temple riven. 
But when the risen Lord returned 

Unto the eleven, as they walked 
With slow, sad steps, their high hearts burned 

Within them when the Saviour talked. 

And when he passed from them, and left 
Their hearts aflame with words he said, 

They were no longer hope-bereft, 
Since Christ had risen from the dead. 



REST. I07 

REST. 

[April, 1888.] 

I crave not the rest of indolent leisure, 
But rather count it a grander pleasure 

To work in a restful way. 
There is to my soul a tireless beauty 
In work that answers the claims of duty — 

The duty of every day. 

Who can sit with hands folded idly 

And gaze in repose on the work so widely 

Around us in challenge spread? 
Not they who have no contempt for labor, 
Who love, as themselves, their fellow-neighbor, 

And weave on the silken thread 

Of opportunity, cloth of such brightness 
That the thoughtless in all their frivolous light- 
ness 

Stop, as they pass, to admire 



108 louise Thompson's works. 

The faultless designs, and close, smooth texture 
Of the cloth of lives, where is stamped a lecture 
To awaken and inspire 

Some sluggish soul with the sweet emotion 
Of active love and a deep devotion 

To labor, that seeks to share 
With the needy of different climes and ages, 
The shining treasure of golden wages 

That mitigate dull despair. 

There is rest in the work of love and kindness ; 
The labor that substitutes light for blindness 

Is service that is but rest; 
Rest from gloomy and turbulent feelings ; 
Rest that is rich in the sweetest revealings 

That pleasure could request; 

Rest from vain and regretful sorrow, 

From fears that cloud the skies of to-morrow, 

From ignorance and sin : 
Such is the rest for which I am yearning — 
Service that angels are happy in learning — 

The work that we shall begin 



SOCIAL INEQUALITY. IO9 

When, saved and redeemed from deaths past 

danger, 
We worship Christ who was found in the 
manger 

By wise men from the East; 
That will be rest that can never weary, 
For then shall we be from all that is dreary 
Forever through Him released. 



SOCIAL INEQUALITY. 

1888. 

I know a bright-faced, cheerful girl, 
Whose father is the veriest churl 
I ever knew, or care to know, 
While thro' this mortal march I go. 

She toils for him from morn till night, 
In wretched and uncomely plight ; 
I know not how she thus can live, 
Her miser father ne'er does give 



1 10 LOUISE THOMPSON S WORKS. 

To her a coin, or paper bill, 
To gratify her girlish will. 

Mysterious economy 

Responds to bold necessity — 

Else she would own no change of dress 

But move in garb of wretchedness. 

O'er fields of corn and golden wheat 
Her father saunters with bare feet, 
Like just so many shapeless flags 
Sail forth his soiled, dishonored rags. 

He owns a handsome range of land, 
But opens not his clenched hand 
To share a cent of what he owns, 
To soothe hard poverty's deep groans. 

This girl knows not that life may be 
From misery and hardship free ; 
She scarcely craves a better fate 
Than thus to carry life's worst freight 
Of sorrow to the waiting grave 
That will contain a miser's slave. 



SOCIAL INEQUALITY. Ill 

Her lot seems worse than death to me — 
Life, without slightest liberty. 
I feel that such things should not be 
But cannot plan their remedy. 



I know another sweet-faced girl, 

Who shines and beams in fashion's whirl. 

The diamonds, whose changeful light 

Beams from neck and wrists so white, 

Are wealth enough for one to own 

Who gathers that by others sown. 

But she has riches vast beside — 

Enough to gratify her pride. 

Her heaviest and deepest care 

Is what to buy and what to wear. 

She knows naught of life's want and toil ; 

From thoughts of it she would recoil ; 

She dreams not that the shining stuff 

She wastes, is riches quite enough 

To mitigate more poverty 

Than she has seen, or yet may see. 



112 LOUISE THOMPSONS WORKS. 

She lives in her own loveliness — 
The bane of strong men's happiness. 

She sees few signs of grief and want ; 
Dark scenes of trouble never haunt 
Her day-dreams, or her peaceful sleep ; 
She smiles, nor dreams that others weep. 

Wealth, beauty and devoted friends, 
With constancy her life attends ; 
She has whate'er her fancies crave, 
And o'er her beauty lovers rave ; 
Indulgences have made her blind 
To the condition of mankind. 

From her exclusive, sheltered place, 
She can not view the present ; 
Nor know how pressing are its needs, 
How loud they call for noble deeds. 

Both girls I have known long and well ; 
But should I e'er attempt to tell 
Them of the difference in their lot, 
I'm sure they would believe me not. 



SOCIAL INEQUALITY. II3 

I stand where both are full in view, 
And meditate on what to do 
To crush the inequality 
That ruins our society. 

Summer, 1888. 



MY LITTLE LOVER. 

TO IZZAR. 

[Spring, 1888.] 

I have a little lover, the sweetest in the world, 
With hair of brown all burnished ; he wore it 
always curled, 

Until the cruel scissors cut off a load of gold, 
Thus robbing him of beauty, and making him 
look old. 

He will not doff his dresses, for clumsy, boyish 

clothes, 
Until his minute stature, a little taller grows. 



114 LOUISE THOMPSONS WORKS. 

And so he's still my baby, although he says 

he 's not, 
And chides me, when I tease him, I seem to 

have forgot 

That when I call him baby, he never will ad- 
mit 
That he is such a tiny, ambitious, wee, wee bit. 

His eyes are blue and tender, and cheeks are 

always bright, 
And when he sees me coming, they deepen 

with delight. 

He never makes me jealous — I know he loves 

but me, 
And he has often promised, that I his bride 

shall be. 

He says that we '11 be married, and go off on a 

tour 
As soon as he grows larger, and I am not so 

sure 



MY LITTLE LOVER. 115 

That should he break his promise, forgetful of 

his vow, 
That I should be as happy, and gay as I am 

now. 

He gladdens me with kisses, and always wears 

a smile 
To sweeten my existence, and brighten, for a 

while, 

The sombre shades of trouble that darken on 

the mind, 
Unless some such a sunbeam, its secret way 

can find 

Into the shadowed recess, where lurks the ach- 
ing pain 

That, though some joy remove it, will soon 
come back again. 



u6 louise Thompson's works. 



FRAGMENTS OF TIME. 

Fragments of Time scattered off the years, 
Welded together by smiles and by tears ; 
Moulded by gladness, or shaped by the strain 
Of profitless effort, half-prisoned by pain. 

Moments of rapture, too deep to express, 
Bound to some others, of grief and distress ; 
Hours of ambition, that led to despair, 
Then melted away, on the breath of a prayer. 

Such are the fragments Time sheds in his flight, 
Some made of darkness, and others of light ; 
Though they are exiled awhile from their place, 
All will fly homeward, some time in the race. 

Thoughts, quite forgotten, and words that have 

died 
On these fragments of Time, in their silence 

abide, 
Where eternity gathers these waifs of the years, 
And each in its rightful position appears : 



FRAGMENTS OF TIME. II J 

They will add to our record, for good or for ill, 
While worlds roll together, like waves at his 
will. 

Then let us improve them, with speed, while 

we may, 
For, tho' loiterers they be, we their flight can 

not stay. 
They are leaving us ever, to blend with the past, 
And gladden or sadden our future at last. 
Pleasant Ridge, O., September 28, 1888. 



GAMALIEL. 



[Acts v. 34.] 



The prison doors had failed to bar 

Their inmates from the world without ; 

Imprisonment had failed to mar 

The purpose of those hearts so stout. 

And now the brave disciples stood 
Again within the temple's shade, 



u8 louise Thompson's works. 

And preached with earnestness that would 
Have made more fearful hearts afraid. 

The irate council soon agreed 

To crush them, lest they did convert 

The people who had taken heed 
Of all the things they did assert. 

And then the wise Gamaliel 

Stood up and warmly, wisely spoke — 
Perhaps he felt the mighty spell 

Of truth, and to its cry awoke. 

Said he : "If this thing be of man 

In course of time 't will come to naught ; 

But if it be of God, none can 

Destroy that which in truth is wrought. 

His words fell with a potent weight 
Upon the hearts of men less wise, 

And thus was stayed the work of hate — 
Such as from envy does arise. 

Gamaliel, thy patient trust 

Was then thy truest, safest guide ; 



GAMALIEL. I 1 9 

No human dart, with vengeance thrust, 
Can from its course the truth divide. 

A valued lesson here I learn, 

From thee, whose trust sought out the right : 
Thou, who didst not in rashness spurn 

The truths that were not bared to sight. 

I will not strive against the might 

Of Providence, nor that which I 
Can not at first with ease prove right, 

But can not in my heart deny. 

Time solves the problem of all things — 

Completes the worlds and moulds the man ; 

In its untiring march it brings 

The measured growth of God's great plan. 

My faith is large — my hope is small — 

I seek for knowledge oft in vain ; 
But Time will soon explain it all, 

And grant the knowledge I would gain. 

May 3, 1888. 



120 LOUISE THOMPSON S WORKS. 

SEPARATION. 

1888. 

I strive with power full half restrained, 
To soothe the dull, hard ache, 

That parting brought, absence retained 
Within my heart for thy dear sake. 

I know I can not e'er forget 
The whispered words you said ; 

That hour when first your blue eyes met 
My own, and there I read 

Their half-grown secret, half expressed 
In silent language strong and sweet. 

Your eyes bespoke all fond requests, 
Desires too sacred to repeat. 

Our love was such a tender flower, 

Its life in darkness grew ; 
It never knew of sun nor shower, 

Nor happy skies of blue. 



SEPARATION. 121 

'Twas nourished by the dew of tears, 

And warmth of loving heart ; 
'T was rudely blown by stormy fears, 

Cut down by jealous dart. 

And still the germ would grow again, 
Fanned by the breath of sighs ; 

I knew it was immortal, then, 
The love that never dies. 

Sometimes I doubt, if what I feel, 

Is scarcely known to you ; 
My heart forbade me to reveal 

Its sweetness full and new. 

And evermore I strive to hide 

That happiness supreme ; 
I only know, when by your side, 

And in love's fondest dream, 

A sentinel of warning fear 

Stood guarding my free speech ; 

I could not trust a thought so dear 
Within that guard's dread reach. 



122 LOUISE THOMPSONS WORKS. 

If I had urged one anxious thought 
Forth on the breath of sound, 

Methinks it would have comfort brought 
That can not now be found. 

For, when you seem a trifle cold, 

I wonder if I am to blame ; 
I grieve and wish my heart more bold, 

To learn why you are not the same. 

I may not know, but do believe, 
That heart responds to heart again ; 

I, waiting, hope for some reprieve, 
To turn to joy the growing pain 

Of separation, and to raise 

The dark, close-fitting, heavy mask 
Of duty, under which there plays 

The promise of a lighter task — 

A task that love would count as naught, 
And pleasure claim her guiding star ; 

A living joy with rapture fraught, 

That nothing in this world could mar. 



SEPARATION. 1 23 

Sweetheart of mine (fojr you have said 
You thought you were my sweetheart), 

I '11 love you still, though hope lie dead 
And duty lead us far apart. 

For memory's pleasures they will live 

To rift the darkness of despair, 
To whisper comfort and to give 

Me glimpses of a face more fair 

To me, than e're F ve seen in dreams 
Of goodly men with princely air ; 

A face where mind transcendant beams, 
In beauty's power and sweetness there. 

O ! lovely face, and dear, kind hands 
So full of comfort for their race ; 

Thy generous heart and mind demands 
Much human praise and God's free grace. 

My blessing on thy noble life, 

So grand, sincere and just, 
And on the mind, where hateful strife, 

Is quelled by quiet trust. 



124 louise Thompson's works. 

I count it pleasure, wondrous dear, 
To love so brave a heart ; 

Although it cost a frozen tear 
To live, and love, apart. 



TO A CHILD RARELY BEAUTIFUL. 

DEDICATED TO SUSIE. 

Thou little lump of compound loveliness, 
How soon thy charms will leave thee, who can 

guess? 
I trust that they may cling a long time yet 
Unto thy face and form, like jewels set 
In purest gold, such as thy rosy health 
That adds a perfect treasure to thy beauty's 

wealth. 
Thou little folded bud, whose opening charms 
Will cease to shield the flower when time's 

alarms 
Shall shake the dews of heaven from off thy 

breast, 



TO A CHILD. 125 

And rob thee of the fearless pleasures of thy 

rest, 
That sits upon thy long-fringed eyelids all so 

gay 
And sweet and light, that night is but a restful 

day. 
To thee, fair innocence, whose breathing is so 

sweet 
That zephyrs softly sigh its echoes to repeat, 
Or sigh to blend their lives with that sweet air 
That does in loving service gently dare 
To steal within thy frame, and tinge with red 
The faithful currents that have faintly spread 
The blush upon thy sea-shell tinted cheek. 
Thy airy toddle would alone bespeak : 
<l A princess comes, make way before her 

smile' ' — 
Such is thy high, untutored, artless style. 
But thy sweet face — can pen or brush portray 
Its polished skin and waves of pink, that stray 
Half-frightened over cheek and rounded chin ? 
And then, as tho' in frolic, hide within, 
Leaving thy face serene and gleaming white, 



126 louise Thompson's works. 

Thy changeful eyes a trifle not so bright; 
But shining, still, like stars that sail the sky 
Above us, always gleaming there so high, 
That we may look and wonder, but not be 
Within the boundaries of the place we see. 

And so it is with childhood, when 'tis hung 
Afar within the orient, where rung 
Our merriest laugh, and freest, gayest song, 
Round which our first and fondest memories 

throng ; 
We may not turn from skies all dark and drear, 
And dwell again within that sunrise sphere ; 
But only see from some low vale afar, 
The gleaming of that patient, shining star — 
Our youth — that far behind us, will shine on 
Until the clouds and vapors all have gone 
Below the line of view where time shall cease 

to be 
In vastness of incomparable eternity. 

Sweet child, I shrink from thoughts that paint 

another view 
Of thy rare loveliness ; but still I know 't is true, 



TO A CHILD. 127 

Even as the first is beautiful, thy lustrous eyes 
Will lose the tinge of summer's midnight 

skies ; 
Thy burnished hair will fade to silver white ; 
Grow coarse and harsh from time's impartial 

blight, 
That shall fall heavier on thy charms, per- 
chance, 
Than on some face where beauty's magic glance 
Has never stamped her bright, far-flashing seal, 
To which the stoic, e'en, can not refuse to 

kneel. 
All nature must begin in subtle things, 
To end in grosser. Time, to all things, brings 
Growth, maturity, decay and death. 
To breathe, is evidence that that same breath 
Must be returned unto the Giver whence it 

came. 
If life means death, the law must stand the 

same 
With beauty, which is but the earliest stage 
Of its dark opposite naught can assuage. 
But death is promise of another life. 



128 louise Thompson's works. 

Shall beauty, then, be yielded in the strife 
Of natural warfare, with the things of earth ? 
No ; we will hope for an immortal birth 
That will return thy loveliness an hundred fold, 
And rank thy beauty with the joys untold. 
April, 23, 1888. 



YOUR LOSS AND MINE. 

IN MEMORIAM OF GRANT. DEDICATED TO MARY. 

I never saw his blue eyes veiled from life, 

Nor touched his unresponsive hand ; 
But you were witness to his spirit's strife, 

When death's pale angel made of it demand 
To follow in the noiseless march of souls 

Released from their cold tenement of clay, 
From which the scroll of life at first unrolls 

Its white, indelible blanks, day by day. 
Your heavier loss was harder far to bear, 

Than mine, who knew not of the tearful end ; 
Nor of the anxious days of hopeful care 



YOUR LOSS AND MJNE. 1 29 

That hovered o'er the death-bed of our friend. 
To me he is as one who will return 

From sojourn on some peaceful, sunlit isle, 
Girt round with magic seas and waving fern, 

And lilies nodding welcome all the while. 
He will not come, I know ; but can not feel 

That never, while this wavering life shall last, 
Shall sight and sense intuitive reveal 

His boyish face as pictured in the past; 
When health inspired his pulse's eager leap, 

And high-born hope and energy were seen 
Upon his youthful brow, that lies asleep 

Beneath earth's latest canopy of green. 
You saw the death-damps gather on his brow, 

And watched the last, faint, flickering gleam 
Of life's farewell, and can recall it now, 

And thus relieve it in a wakeful dream. 
But those dark hours were all unknown to me, 

And memory comes to me with scenes so 
fair 
And so familiar, that reality 

Seems only pale in fancy's vivid glare. 
But when I see the broken circle he has left, 



130 louise Thompson's works. 

My heart grows sad with certainty of pain ; 
'Tis then I feel how much we are bereft, 

'T is then that crowded tears will drop like 
rain. 
I see fond ones, whose disappointed hopes 
Keep mournful watch where pleasure once 
was found; 
The phantom of a broken promise gropes 
Wherever happiness and mirth abound. 
The broken promise of a noble life — 

A life with blessings fraught for loving 
hearts ; 
But he was spared the anxious toil and strife 
That must be borne in lessons life imparts. 
Let memory beguile return of grief, 

For one that is more blest than those who 
mourn ; 
Build hopeful happiness upon belief 

In heaven's happier and brighter bourne. 

March 17, 1888. 



RASH JUDGMENT. 131 

RASH JUDGMENT. 

[Summer, 1888.] 

Frank Osborn was a workman of finished skill 
and tact, 

And he, as a w r ood butcher, for no employ- 
ment lacked. 

He would have highest wages, for such he 
could command, 

As there was no more rapid, or deft, or skillful 
hand 

Than his, with saw and hammer and plumbing, 
and his tongue 

Was just as active member as ever talked or 
sung. 

He talked and sung and whistled more than I 

can approve ; 
He never stopped his clatter to mould a tongue 

or grove ; 
He talked like most of people, to edify the 

crowd, 



I 32 LOUISE THOMPSON S WORKS. 

Or teach some individual — and he talked very 

loud. 
For sake of controversy, he chose the other 

side 
Of every theme and topic — he 'd hold it if he 

died. 

Sometimes his strong opponent would come out 

far ahead 
In line of fair conviction of truth ; when Frank, 

instead 
Of seeing his position, would never have a 

thought 
That he had missed the target, he had so 

rashly sought. 

The people, all, who knew him, would never 

add a word 
To any of his lectures, nor seem as though 

they heard 
The vainly prolonged speeches he gave them 

every day, 
For well they knew that talking, was not the 

surest way 



RASH JUDGMENT. I 33 

To end the clitter, clatter, for he would never 

stop, 
Nor let the noisy subject in golden silence drop, 
Until convinced of triumph — and silence gives 

consent — 
For which he 'd drop that subject, and some 

new one present. 

He joined the Labor Party, for nothing but 

effect ; 
He liked its large excitement, although his 

peace it wrecked ; 
He hated wealth and hauteur y and talked about 

the wrongs 
Of capital to labor; and all such as belongs 
To strikers' shaky platform, he dwelt upon 

with might, 
And how the working people would struggle 

for their right. 

While working on a stairway, that climbed 

through spacious halls, 
Within a costly mansion, allhung with frescoed 

walls, 



1 34 LOUISE THOMPSON S WORKS. 

He hummed a sacred ballad, that caught the 

mistress' ear — 
It smote the chords of pity, that wrung from 

her a tear. 
Her better nature conquered the spirit of false 

pride, 
And trustfully she followed her feelings for her 

guide; 

And as she passed Frank Osborn, upon the 

splendid stair, 
A noble impluse showed her, an active duty 

there ; 
And without condescension, and earnestly and 

sweet, 
She invited him to worship where wealthy peo- 
ple meet, 
And listen to a lecture, and to a well trained 

choir 
That constitutes a service (not long enough to 

tire 
The mass of restless hearers that crowd the 

sacred place). 



RASH JUDGMENT. 135 

He turned upon the lady, a flushed and scorn- 
ful face, 

And answered with a boldness and arrogance of 
air, 

That to her gentle nature seemed harsh and 
most unfair. 

He said: "You treat your servants like dogs, 

and never give 
A kind word, or a morsel, to those who have 

to live, 
Deprived of costly comforts, and even nature's 

need ; 
I 've seen enough such people, puffed up with 

pride and greed. 
What, if you meet in heaven, the poor you fail 

to know 
On Sunday in your churches, because they 're 

poorly dressed — 
You '11 meet some wretched pauper among the 

saved and blest, 
(If God's great mercy grants you a better life 

than this) 



136 louise Thompson's works. 

And some of your church members you cer- 
tainly will miss." 

Surprised, and half-bewildered, the lady sought 
her room. 

Her sympathy was blighted : She fell into the 
gloom 

Of selfish disappointment, and blamed her err- 
ing heart 

For the unhappy lesson its kindness did impart. 

Quite thoughtless of the limits her small ex- 
perience knew, 

She judged the lower masses by the rebellious 
few 

That had repulsed her kindness, or used it to 
excess — 

For if she gave her bonnet, they 'd ask her for 
her dress. 

And so a gentle nature, was hardened by the 
blows 

Of one " unruly member," that often does im- 
pose 



RASH JUDGMENT, I 37 

Upon its own possessor, and other people's 
peace — 

From an incessant talker 't is hard to gain re- 
lease. 

Frank Osborn, sure of triumph, supposed his 

vanquished friend 
Was conscious of her errors, and never would 

offend 
His sense of truth and justice again, as she had 

done, 
Since he had proved her guilty, by silence 

quickly won. 

And thus the breach was widened between the 

workingman 
And lady of the mansion, whose philanthropic 

plan 
Was thwarted by his rashness, nor would again 

revive 
While memory of that insult was even half 

alive. 

He judged her by the knowledge he had of 
wealthy men, 



138 * louise Thompson's works. 

Or tyrant corporations, whose riches once 

again 
Were doubled by the pressure they cast upon 

the poor, 
And whose resplendent palace came through 

the poor man's door. 

Is not bright wealth an honor, and poverty the 
same, 

If from no mean oppression the envied bless- 
ings came ? 

Even poverty is blameless, I think, when it is 
found 

Where sweet content and industry and help- 
lessness abound. 

The more that some are favored, the more 
their wants increase. 

In such a land of plenty, how can there be re- 
lease 

From hateful discontentment among the com- 
ing race, 

If with man's education his yearnings must 
keep pace ? 



RASH JUDGMENT. I 39 

If discontent was guided by charity's advice, 
Or waited for slow prudence to think about it 

twice, 
There 'd be such ugly folly apparent in the 

scheme, 
That it would not so pleasant and profitable 

seem. 



REGRETS. 
[1888.] 



They come in the welcome and winning dis- 
guise 
Of memory's trappings; but to my surprise 
Display but the homely and cast-away form 
Of thoughts ; like ravens in ominous swarms 
Mark the grave of past pleasures, and duties 

undone ; 
Unkindness remembered in wrath, till the sun 
Had written the record of that evil day 
With the red ink of sunset, in characters gay ; 



I40 LOUISE THOMPSON S WORKS. 

But fearful in meaning, because the red gold 
Could many a thoughtless secret unfold. 

They come sometimes singly, and sometimes 

in throngs, 
And lead me, unveiled, to look on the wrongs 
And follies they charge to my unpaid account ; 
And when on the free air of hope I would 

mount, 
Above the dark presence of painful regrets, 
They cling to me, clamoring for the assets 
Of years that lie buried, for which I still owe 
A debt to the claims of the dim, long ago. 

They come like the ghost of a sorrow long 

dead, 
And over my playful, gay spirit they spread 
The unfinished cloth that I left in the loom, 
When the day was all spent and faded in gloom 
Of a night that brought slumber, but no sweet 

repose — 
A night on whose bosom no guiding star 

rose. 



REGRETS. 141 

They haunt recollection, and make it but pain 
To reckon on memory, pleasure's small gain. 
When I shrink from the visits of this deep- 
voiced guest, 
I am into its presence reluctantly pressed ; 
It leaves me, though sadder than I was before, 
Some Wiser and better; when, through the dark 

door 
It passes, still waving a warning to me- — 
Remember the past in the years that shall be. 



THE UNSOUGHT BLESSING. 

The richest blessing that my life has known, 
Came all unasked — a thing of joy full-grown- 
And rich with pleasures I had never sought, 
So far were they above my wildest thought. 
For meaner joys I oft had striven in vain, 
And wondered if the prize that I would gain 
Would ever sway within my waiting reach ; 
Then earnestly again I would beseech 



142 LOUISE THOMPSON S WORKS. 

The Giver of all good, that He would send 
The thing I craved, and thus my wish commend. 
But in His mercy and far-reaching care, 
He shielded me, and answered not my prayer, 
Which plead for what my soul the least did 

need; 
And now I know why He refused to heed 
The cravings that in secret now have passed, 
And let me know His loving will at last. 
His grace has overflowed my mortal life 
With love's own gifts, and made it rich and rife 
With better things than I had longed to know, 
Or dared to hope His mercy would bestow 
On me, whose service has deserved no gift 
Of such remembrance as has power to lift 
My soul so high above the darkened air 
In which I breathed forth that unanswered 

prayer, 
That all the doubt, and constant, aching pain 
That I then felt, might not come back again. 
Oh ! wondrous grace, and still more wondrous 

love, 
That has bestowed on me a life above 



REGRETS. 143 

The painful level that I blindly sought, 
Supposing it with pleasures richly fraught. 
And now I wait for Thy unchanging will 
The fullness of Thy promise to fullfil. 
Thy will, not mine, dear Lord, I pray be done, 
Or, better still, make Thine and mine but one. 
Bethel, 0., May 17, 1888. 



TIRED. 



I'm so weary, to-night, of the loud, restless 
street, 

And the clatter of footsteps the pavements re- 
peat ; 

I 'm tired of the beauty that charms to ensnare, 

And tired of disguise that fair faces wear. 

The surge of the crowd makes my heart ache 

and sink, 
While of tenderer scenes I longingly think ; 



144 LOUISE THOMPSONS WORKS. 

The lights and the splendor that beam 'neath 

their blaze 
Only repel my satisfied gaze. 

Jewels that sparkle on soft, snowy hands, 
Only remind me of gentler bands ; 
Smiles stir the hunger that raves in my breast, 
For home and its harvest of infinite rest. 

Sweet voices wake echoes of others more dear, 

And solitude kisses my cheek with a tear ; 

O ! cold, hateful world, how I loathe you to- 
night — 

Your high hopes that sadden, and griefs that 
affright. 

O'er your hard, frozen surface, I 'm walking 
alone ; 

When I ask you for bread, I receive but a 
stone ; 

All your pleasures are drugged with the es- 
sence of gall, 

And your best gifts are given our hearts to en- 
thrall. 



TIRED. 145 

! world, give me back all the peace I have 

lost, 
On the breath of the gales that have driven and 

tossed 
My life's storm-besieged and fortune-tossed 

bark, 
That is drifting far out toward the billowy dark. 

1 '11 forgive thee for once, if my heart thou wilt 

save, 
And make it forget, and in sorrow be brave ; 
But to-night it is troubled, and clamors for love, 
Like the moan of a lonely, disconsolate dove. 

Still, one little spot on thy cold breast is warm — 
That is home — where adversity's wild, raging 

storm 
Rocks our life-boat but lightly, and wails, soft 

and low, 
Some lullaby, blended with sleep long ago. 

When the twilight comes down in her shadowy 

dress, 
And softens earth's sunlighted loveliness, 



146 louise Thompson's works. 

And fire fairies dance in the ember's bright 

glow, 
And voices we hear have a tone sweet and low, 
Then the veil between heaven and earth swings 

apart, 
By the pressure of heart that is laid against 

heart. 

O, hard and relentless, indeed, is the fate 
That robs us of home, and the dear ones that 

wait 
To welcome us there, when our heart 's sad and 

faint, 
And sinking from worldly contagion and taint. 

The kisses that seal the sweet words that are 

said, 
Or smother the harsh ones that rise in their 

stead, 
Are links in the chain by which we are drawn 
Through earth's sunset gates, into heaven's fair 

dawn. 
Palace Hotel, Saturday Night, Oct. 13, 1888. 



HOPE AND DESPAIR. 1 47 



HOPE AND DESPAIR. 

Hope drew me on with sweet deceit, 
Toward the goal that Love sought out ; 

Nor fear nor trouble did I meet, 
Nor e'en the shadow of a doubt. 

Sweet scenes were spread before my view, 

Enticing me to look beyond 
The meaner things I saw and knew — 

Which made my anxious heart despond. 

Hope pointed steadfast on before — 
Forbade me look to either side, 

Or view the track we had passed o'er; 
So cautious was my winsome guide. 

And so we passed in peace along, 

And trod out fragrance from the flowers ; 

And measured time by laugh and song, 
Instead of by the days and hours. 

We ofttimes chased a joy in vain ; 
But, losing one, found others near ; 



148 louise Thompson's works. 

Pursuit would banish failure's pain, 
And leave behind all trace of fears. 

Hope charmed me with its scenes outspread, 
And lured me on to pleasure's tune ; 

But, suddenly y she paled and fled. 
And left me in a sightless swoon. 

Despair had smote her pointing hand, 
And darkened all her lovely views; 

She could not in her pride withstand, 
To see him thus her charms abuse. 

Despair stood firm, where Hope had fled; 

Nor would he grant me soon to pass ; 
I, turning, found sweet Hope lay dead 

Upon a heap of withered grass. 

So motionless and dark and stern, 
Before me stood the guard Despair; 

I had not courage to return; 

But felt I could not linger there. 

While thus of grim Despair afraid, 
Hope stirred, and tremblingly arose; 



HOPE AND DESPAIR. 1 49 

And in my own her hand she laid — 
With gentle clasp I felt it close. 

The miracle of Hope's new life 

Left old Despair with fear enraged; 

They strove; and bitter was the strife 
In which my guide and guard engaged. 

At last Hope dealt a mighty blow, 
That felled the giant to the ground; 

She waited not to there bestow 
A farewell glance in joy around. 

But onward sped my victor guide, 
Until she reached the cherished goal ; 

There, standing radiant by my side, 
She planted trust within my soul. 

September 27, 1888. 



I 50 LOUISE THOMPSON S WORKS. 



MY ANGEL. 

One night when I awoke from slumber, 
From a sleep that was dreamless and light, 

I saw a most beautiful vision 

Of angel wings, shining and white. 

Against the gilt of the paper 

That covers the wall of my room, 

They hung for one precious moment, 
Then melted away in the gloom. 

O, beautiful angel pinions, 

How came ye to visit my sleep? 

Did your glowing garments flutter 
Above my pillow, and sweep 

The sleep from my quivering eyelids, 

That, opening as they past, 
Unbound my heaven-blest vision, 

To catch a glimpse of the last 

Bright radiance of thy beauty, 
So unlike to mortal mold, 



MY ANGEL. 15 I 

As it swayed a sating wonder 
Against the wall-lighted gold? 

I fear that my mortal glances 

Wounded thy delicate wings ; 
I peered so hard through the shadows, 

To catch the vision that brings 

The joy of glorious promise 

Anew to my tired soul ; 
To strengthen it anew for the journey 

That lies this side of its goal. 

Come back, O, guardian angel, 
And show me thy seraph face; 

Awake me again with a message 
Of wonderful, saving grace. 

Breathe on me the breath of pardon ; 

Remove thou the load of care 
That burdens my weary conscience, 

And tempts me 'most to despair. 

O, make me worthy to love thee, 
And Him whose marvelous love 



152 LOUISE THOMPSONS WORKS. 

Has spared me a shining guardian 
From his seraph host above. 

O, beautiful, nameless angel, 
Visit my wandering dreams 

With words and whispers of promise, 
And bright and radiant gleams 

Of light from the far-off city, 

That rises above the sea, 
Of crystal and streets all shining, 

In blaze of eternity. 

I thank thee, white-winged spirit, 
For what I have seen of thee; 

O, help me to never grieve thee 
With fear, or inconstancy. 

I shall hope for thy second coming, 

And labor to prepare 
Myself for the splendid presence 

Of One so wondrous fair. 

For I know thou wilt not linger 
Where there is aught impure ; 



MY ANGEL. 153 

The place was too much tarnished 
For thee to rest secure. 

Above my fitful slumbers 

Thy rustling garments broke, 
When stirred by angel presence, 

My heart and eyes awoke. 

March 19, 1888. 



LORD BYRON. 



Illustrious praise and scathing blame 

Have tinged thy great, immortal name ; 

No blame from me, but fullest praise 

Of thy sweet, sentimental lays 

So rich with love and longing fraught ; 

So smooth the rhyme, so strong the thought. 

Thou master of the mournful lyre — 

With heart aflame with love's swift fire — 

To thee I breathe from out my soul, 

Wherein unspoken longings roll, 

The praise I can but half express, 



154 LOUISE THOMPSON^ WORKS. 

Of all the depths and loveliness 
That fills and overflows thy songs, 
Born of thy loves and of thy wrongs. 
The human and the more divine, 
Chime sweetly in each stirring line 
Thy pen in adamant has traced, 
Where they can never be effaced. 
The radiance of thy genius gleams 
On black background in midnight dreams - 
Dreams true to life, however dark 
May be the scenes their image mark. 
'T is wonder they were half so fair, 
Stamped by the weight of thy despair. 
The sufferings of thy wounded heart 
Might many darker dreams impart ; 
But would not lay such secrets bare 
Before the world's unfeeling stare. 
Thou man of grief disconsolate, 
Chained down by all the powers of Fate, 
I could not blame thee, hadst thou sought 
To clothe much darker, lower thought, 
Than that which stains thy nobler verse 
With bitterness and feelings worse ; 



LORD BYRON. 1 5 5 

For thine was a soul-souring fate — 

The seeds of waywardness and hate 

Were planted ere thou wast aware 

Of coming wretchedness and care. 

With few to love thee, or to bend 

The kind ear of a loving friend 

Unto the sorrows of thy heart 

So often pierced by love's keen dart — 

So often writhing under scorn 

From her who should have made the morn 

Of life to thee a joyous thing, 

Rather than a twinging sting, 

How could thy better nature soar 

Above the woes thy sad life bore? 

A thousand woven links of pain 

Bound thee to earth with sorrow's chain ; 

The upper skies thou couldst not gain, 

If there thou couldst not long remain — 

Too great would be the constant strain, 

To drag thee back to earth again. 

Thy classic verses I adore, 

While over them I muse and pour ; 

Thy faults with me are all forgot — 



156 louise Thompson's works. 

I only mourn thy loveless lot; 
And sorrow that the singing muse 
Could not some perfect joy infuse 
Into thy deeply shadowed life, 
That knew more of the bitter strife 
Than of the sweets existence brings 
To those who never know its stings. 

April 26, 1888. 



ALLENE. 



Upon the tablet of my memory 
Scenes ever come and go with careless ease ; 
But one there is that lingers longest there, 
And comes to me more frequent than the rest : 
It is a scene of one who bears the trace 
Of pain exquisite on her pale, pure face. 
I see her coming over meadow hills, 
A gentle driver of the lagging cows 
That thank her patience with their large, soft 
eyes; 



ALLENE. 157 

And, standing knee-deep in the little stream, 
Implore her for the privilege she grants. 
I hear no sound of laughter from her lips, 
Nor hum of ballad — silence is her song. 
No childish play arrests her sombre mood, 
And when she laughs, her voice is low, sub- 
dued, 
As tho' some sacred thing would feel the shock 
Of merriment, where sadness held her reign. 
A quiet ease, and high indifference 
To all the rude and common interests 
Of childhood, place her far beyond the things 
Most pleasing to a creature of her years. 
A sad-faced child, she comes in scornful tears 
From school, when tasks are heaviest and dull. 
She loathes the hum-drum of the school, and 

harsh 
Reproof that sets neglected rules in force. 
This child weeps but to see a playmate stand 
In slow disgrace upon the school-room floor; 
One sharp-edged word will pierce her thro' and 

thro', 
And set her little frame to shivering 



158 louise Thompson's works. 

Like some late flower that feels the north wind's. 

breath 
Blow roughly o'er its unprotected breast, 
And, agitated, sheds white tears of dew. 
Her tears fell frozen, by the hard, cold scorn 
Of vulgar-natured children round her thrown ; 
They saw no pathos in a tear, nor felt 
The noble pang of sympathetic grief; 
Nor could they comprehend a soul that could. 
Allene was found not in the noisy group 
Of children on their homeward way from school ; 
She shunned the loud, coarse jest, and louder 

laugh, 
Preferring nature's peaceful company. 
And thus she grew a lily in the midst 
Of scentless weeds, devoid of loveliness. 
She looked about her for a kindred flower, 
But found no redolence nor color there ; 
All round her grew the stubborn plant of life, 
Unpruned and coarser than it could have been 
In the crude newness of its infancy. 
A deeper sadness fell upon Allene, 
As she sought vainly for she knew not what ; 



ALLENE. 159 

She knew not what she sought, nor where to 

find 
The nameless something that engaged her 

search ; 
But surely, somewhere in this living world, 
She thought, there must be something nobler 

far, 
Than she had found within the low, dark walls 
Of school-room, or along the broad highway. 
A voice from out the zephyr-shaken trees 
Had whispered to her of a world of love 
Somewhere, they knew, but would not tell her 

where. 
The seasons kept no secrets from her gaze ; 
She learned strange lessons from them as they 

passed ; 
She found a friend in nature— one she knew 
Was heavy-hung with wisdom o'er and o'er; 
But still the want was there unsatisfied; 
For nature's grandest work had failed her 

dreams — 
She found no human nature perfect grown, 
And sat a goddess in a fallen fane ; 



160 louise Thompson's works. 

A goddess without worshipers she sat, 
Seeking and finding not the precious prize 
Of an unsullied soul, a pure, warm heart, 
And brain illumed by intellectual fire. 
Allene, at last, as she neared womanhood, 
Became more reconciled to lower things. 
Distilling all the sweets from every flower 
That nodded welcome to her as she passed, 
She found the elements of beauty cast 
In unattractive and unshapely molds. 
Why had she looked so high and far and wide, 
For treasures that in lowest forms abide ? 
The good she knew, the loveliness she saw, 
Were but reflections of her inner self, 
That beautified the surface where they lay, 
And, looking back where all had once seemed 

dark, 
She saw a shower of radiance 
Descend from wisdom's heights, revealing truth ; 
And this is what the revelation taught : 
Sweet goodness, beauty, ravishing and fair, 
And glowing love and happiness serene 
Are present with us ever, though we see 



ALLENE. l6l 

No shadow of their earnest countenance ; 
We see them only when the light within 
Has grown so pure and strong, its rays reach out 
And light to bright transparency the dark 
Opaqueness of our mean environments. 
The torch, Allene's genius, flamed so high, 
It blinded her to all things base and low ; 
She saw the dizzy heights of wisdom rise 
Beyond, and eagerly she strove to climb 
The winding paths of learning that are cut 
By man's slow foot-prints in the stubborn soil. 
Her ascent was retarded by the weight 
Of w T oes that clung like cowards to her heart — 
False friends would lure her to a precipice, 
And timid ones would shout a false alarm ; 
Her fellow travelers, with jealous pride 
And light retort, would pass her hastily, 
While those behind implored her guiding hand, 
And trammeled genius with their ignorance. 

One morning, when the sweet south wind was 

free, 
j nd birds were singing with the voice of spring, 



i62 louise Thompson's works. 

And sunshine filled the air, and dressed the 

earth 
In garments fit for any fairy queen, 
The chirping of the matin choristers, 
That perched within the branches of an elm, 
(The window drapery of Allene's room) 
Aroused the gentle sleeper from her dreams, 
To strange, new thoughts, of sweeter things 

than books, 
Since genius had been shining through her soul 
With goodness, guarding all its aims and 

strokes. 

Allene had loved all things, the least no less 
Than she had loved the greatest ; 

But 'twas not 
An impulse, only sentiment at best. 
But love had cast aside abstractions now, 
And sought out for its object one fair youth ; 
Nay, not a youth ; he was a youthful man ; 
No stripling, striding through his tiresome teens. 
A woman's weakest and her strongest lines, are 
met 



ALLENE. 163 

At sharp right angles over love, 

And form the corner into which she 's led 

With unresisted force, by nature's guide. 

The choice that Allene's love had made, was not 

So well determined, nor so wisely made 

As one would hope to see a genius make. 

Her lover had a smooth, white face ; 

But noble lines were nowhere to be traced 

Upon its woman's fairness ; still, his eyes 

Were clear and liquid as the June-day skies; 

Soft tenderness, and trembling passion spoke 

In lover's whispers from their boundless depths, 

And sent swift thrills of fire all quivering thro' 

The clinging being that they sought and 

charmed. 
Who has not felt the magic of soft eyes — 
The lightning thrill, and then the languid 

charm, 
The yearning and the ardor they create ? 
Electric orbs, both by the soul employed 
To transmit messages no tongue could speak; 
They hold their object helpless as a prisoned 

dove, 



164 LOUISE THOMPSON'S WORKS. 

When in their depths there dwells the power of 
love. 

'Twas through such power that Aliened heart 
was touched, 

And by fine words her intellect was reached — 

For Allene's lover had the gift of speech ; 

Sweet, winning speech, and graceful compli- 
ments 

Were in her presence full at his command. 

His mind, too, might have been of noble cast, 

Arid capable of great expansion ; but 

He cared not for the nobleness of life — 

Its pleasures were the only prize he sought, 

And finding them, he counted them but naught. 

An empty, idle, sluggish life was his ; 

He was a dilettant and beau ; 

A polished poison slow, and nectar sweet, 

By men hated, women idolized, 

And small, rude boys exposed to taunts and 
scorn. 

But Allene viewed him thro' love's magic glass, 
That quite concealed his many glaring faults, 



ALLENE. 165 

And magnified his virtues many times. 
She loved with all the fullness of her soul — 
Devotion's earnestness, affection's warmth, 
The violence of passion, all were there 
To perfect this first impulse of her soul. 
Two summers and tw r o winters came and went, 
And these were happy, faithful, loving still ; 
The August moon, the starry, winter sky, 
The buds of May, and autumn's russet leaves 
Returning, found them wiser in love lore, 
But nearer love's inevitable end. 
His was a shallow heart, exposed to shocks 
Of feeling that o'erran its narrow bounds, 
And w T hen the spell had passed, it left behind 
An empty heart, devoid of happiness. 
While yet they trod the upper heights of love, 
Hand clasped in hand, and lips together 

pressed, 
He wearied of the ever-deepening charm 
That led him on beyond his nature's might. 
Love was exhausted in his narrow heart — 
For she had led him far beyond his depths. 
Allene saw blindly how her idol fell 



i66 louise Thompson's works. 

From her a ruined deity, dissolved 

Into the grosser elements of earth ; 

And as her love grew faint, she saw with clear 

And penetrating vision, gilded flaws 

All o'er the surface of his character. 

Where love had painted virtues, there was left 

Naught but the nude deformity of sin ; 

All that had been to her most happy, now 

Was changed to deep disgust and stinging 

scorn. 
Well did she grieve to see love worn and dead ; 
She sorrowed for love's sake, and grieved and 

wept ; 
But for its object felt no burning pain. 
She drove the shattered idol from her heart, 
And purified by tears the tarnished shrine, 
And locked the temple with a golden key, 
Forged by the fire of love and pain and loss. 
Allene drooped not like some fond creatures do ; 
She wore no mourning in her countenance, 
Nor moved less airily, nor seemed less gay; 
For, since she saw her error with new eyes, 
She knew how far beneath her flight he moved, 



ALLENE. 167 

And wondered how her love had held him up 
Above his mind's low course so patiently. 
They parted, and he never knew 
If he was loved or loathed — 't was her revenge 
To hide her feelings from his curious gaze, 
And live as though the past had never been. 

Experience sometimes may make us wise, 
When all else fails to unveil our eyes, 
Tho' granite its nature be. 



THE POET'S DELAY. 

My mind, at times, 

Strives like a winged prisoner to burst 
The cold, black, iron gates that cage in thought ; 
The myriad forms of nameless beauty float 
In bright reflection on my mind, that seeks 
To push them to expression's ringing verge; 
But can not carry them so far beyond 
The native place of their creation. There they 
lurk 



1 68 louise Thompson's works. 

Within the boundaries of their place of birth, 
Like timid children, all too much afraid 
Of change to venture from beneath the eaves 
That bound the roof of their paternal home. 
But these frail children of my brain are not 
Like those in all regards ; for these would go 
Beyond the front yard gate of silence ; 
But for poverty of dress, they wait within, 
Trembling from sense of their own nudeness. 
Dreams and stirring thoughts sometimes 
Do strike so hard upon my mind's keen sense, 
They make me wonder why the deep-dealt 

blow 
Wakes not some sweet, prolonged, reflected 

sound, 
In form of language, clear and well-defined. 
The echo speaks ; but lingers in my brain, 
Where rings the shapeless, wordless, voiceless 

strains, 
Until I crave to stop my mind's worn ears 
From sounds that, irrepressible and swift, 
Beat in upon this tired hearing still. 
Sometimes great floods of feeling wash to shore 



THE POET'S DELAY. 1 69 

The tangled wreck of thoughts that took 

Poor refuge in the various-hued debris 

Of language. My full soul at high-tide swells 

Above, and far beyond, the slippery beach — 

The brain on which emotions ebb and flow. 

I can but hear the sound of onward waves 

Of feeling all too deep and indistinct 

For me to catch and reproduce again 

Upon the strings of the sweet-sounding lyre ; 

Hence, I would learn the alchemy that molds 

The dull, soft gold of silence, such as this, 

Into sweet, silver-sounding tongues of speech. 

So much I dream and feel and know 

Is nameless, and too large to clothe in words — 

The drapery of words that I might use 

Will not define the form to which they cling; 

Nor will they quite reveal it ; they but mar 

The perfect outlines with their clumsy weight. 

That which I may, that will I strive to do ; 

Preserve the forms of beauty that I see, 

Retain the sounds of song that come and go, 

And treasure up within the treasure-house 

Of memory the relics of each flood 



1 70 LOUISE THOMPSON S WORKS. 

Of stranded thought ; and when the place 
Of keeping holds such secrets as are sweet, 
When sounded in full choir to alien ears, 
Then, when thoughts shapeless, and at most 

half-grown, 
Have merged into the perfect and maturer 

form 
That claims quick utterance, speech will strike 
With silver hammers all the barriers down, 
Nor stammer at the relics found within. 

April 23, 1888. 



AMONG THE WATER LILIES. 171 

AMONG THE WATER LILIES. 

[November, 1888.] 

It was half-past five, and the long, lambent 
shadows lay peacefully upon the terraced lawn 
that stretches from the hotel piazza down to 
the pebble-bordered lake shore. One merry 
group of girls and boys were still waving their 
tennis bats in the sunlight, and here and there, 
under the broad shade of a leafy elm, sat a de- 
mure maiden, with an open, unread novel. It 
was the hour of customary retirement at the 

L House. Dames and belles, in out-door 

toilets, sprinkled with spray from the lake, or 
powdered with the dust of field or highway, 
had sought the cool comforts and private pleas- 
ures of their boudoirs, and were donning the 
dreamy whites and airy gauzes of evening 
wear. It was the hour, too, when faithful 
nurses performed vigorous ablutions upon the 
dirt-darkened roses on baby cheeks, and the 



172 LOUISE THOMPSON S WORKb. 

plump, sticky little fingers that had just been 
tracing hieroglyphics in the sand. The fifty 
smiling waiters, liveried in spotless, white 
aprons and white cravats, were commencing to 
congregate in the large, airy dining-room, with 
its twenty windows commanding a view of the 
lake. These waiters often opened their ' ' even- 
ing service " with song, and a quartette was sing- 
ing now, with striking effect, "Old, Black 
Joe." The loiterers on the lawn listened, and 
the clerks in the office oaught the strains, and 
listened admiringly for a moment, forgetful of 
their duties. Ere long, the last notes from the 
colored quartette melted softly away, and all 
was quiet again. It would have been difficult 
for one newly arrived, to realize how much 
vivacity, gayety and hilarity awaited adown 
the quiet corridors of that vast summer hotel — 
the flash of lights, and swell of the orchestra. 
Half-way down the lawn stood two girlish fig- 
ures, half in sunlight, half in shade, and al- 
ready dressed for evening. Longingly they 
gazed out over the beautiful, unruffled surface 



AMONG THE WATER LILIES. 1 73 

of the gleaming lake. Presently, Ida Haverly 
turned, and spoke imploringly to her sweet- 
faced companion with the shining red gold 
hair: •' Please ; do go out with me, Zephyr, 
it is so warm and so early yet, I feel sure that 
if your mamma were here, she would advise 
you to take a row ; you know she is always so 
indulgent/ • M And that is the greatest reason 
why disobedience is inexcusable in me," replied 
Zephyr Stone, feeling, at the same time, that it 
was hardly an act of disobedience that Ida re- 
quested of her. It was not yet six, and 
Zephyr was privileged by her parents to stay 
out on the lake until that hour ; so the going 
out involved no trespass ; but Zephyr knew 
that Ida would not be satisfied with a ten min- 
utes' row, and she was reluctant. Mr. and 
Mrs. Stone had gone to Niagara that morning, 
and would not return for several days. Zephyr 
had no fear of being detected at her adven- 
tures ; but her training made her fear to do a 
wrong. But as this was only a half wrong, and 
without "the appearance of evil, " she finally 



174 LOUISE THOMPSONS WORKS. 

consented to go. Ida hastily made her way to 
her room, and returned with a pretty, em- 
broidered, silk shawl, leaving Zephyr without 
an explanation of her sudden flight. "I shall 
not need a shawl," said Zephyr, somewhat 
puzzled, as Ida tossed the shawl lightly into 
her arms. " You don't intend to stay out late 
enough to realize the need of a wrap, I hope ? 
If you do, I can't go." "I thought you 
always carried a wrap, in order to be prepared 
for emergencies/' explained Ida, "and I knew 
I could get mine quicker, and with less diffi- 
culty, than you could get yours. I did it as 
an expression of my appreciation of your con- 
sent to go. Where are your suspicions now, 
1 dearie? ' " "Where they were before you 
made that explanation, I suppose ; they have n't 
been with me at any time," answered Zephyr, 
as she stepped into the pretty little cushion- 
seated row-boat, which was her private prop- 
erty. "The oars are in the boat-house, Ida, 
and I do n't think we can get them in less than 
half an hour. They are held down under a 



AMONG THE WATER LILIES. 175 

heap of rubbish. You had better get another 
pair quick, for I '11 not go after it strikes six. 
The oars were quickly secured, and made such 
strong, rapid strokes, under the control of 
Ida's skillful hands, that ere the clock on the 
chapel chimed out six, the two fair truants 
were beyond the reach of its tones. Out upon 
the smooth, shining surface of the water, they 
seemed to glide, so true were the strokes of the 
oars. The glow of exercise and pleasure 
beamed from Ida's pretty face ; but Zephyr's 
was pale and pensive with apprehension. "I 
never saw you row with such vigor and earnest- 
ness before, Ida. One would think you were 
rowing a prize race, to see the expression of 
your face, and the motion of your oars. What 
inspires you so, anyway?" "Wait awhile, 
and you shall see. I have a motive, of course^ 
else I should be enjoying the beauties of sun- 
set with you, instead of working like a paid 
boatman. Just look, we are already opposite 

B landing, and that is half a mile above 

ours. Can you see the lily-beds yet, Zephyr ? " 



I76 LOUISE THOMPSON^ WORKS. 

' - Yes ; but they are a mile beyond B . I 

I hope you don't think of going that far up 
the lake, Ida ? As a friend, I trust you too 
much to think you will take advantage of my 
kindness in that way?" "I will turn back 
this very moment, if you wish me to, Zephyr," 
said Ida, whose sensitiveness was aroused by 
what Zephyr had just said. "But, really, if 
you knew why I am rowing so fast toward the 
water lilies, I think you would sympathize with 
my efforts." "Well, do open your heart to 
me at once," exclaimed Zephyr, half-playfully. 
"You know how the Hansons have the water 
lily monopoly," began Ida. " They seem to 
feel that it 's robbery for anyone else to get 
one; they have been coming up here as early 
as six a. m., and getting all the pretty, white 
lilies that were open. Well, yesterday Ellen 
Leslie and her brother were too early for the 
Hansons, and when they cut through the bed 
at six o'clock a. m., they found it had been 
visited by earlier guests ; so they concluded to 
change the hour of their visits. I will tell you 



AMONG THE WATER LILIES. 1 77 

how I know. I was sitting on the piazza, after 
dinner, and I heard Daisy Hanson tell her 
married sister that they were going up after 
supper to-night ; for it is moonlight, she said, 
and they could see the lilies very well. She 
said such spiteful things about people's in- 
solence and trickery, meaning Ellen and her 
brother, of course, that it aroused my resent- 
ment, and I promised myself to prove to her 
that there was somebody else who was insolent 
enough to gather water lilies." Ida paused, as 
though at the close of a tale that is told. 
Zephyr sighed, threw the shawl about her 
shoulders, and gazed vacantly out over the 
lake to where a sail-boat seemed to hang like a 
mirage between wave and sky. It was Sam, 
the old, colored sailor, who was vainly tugging 
at her sails. "Sam seems to be destined to 
stay out awhile, doesn't he?" remarked Ida, 
noting the object of Zephyr's interest. "Yes," 
replied Zephyr, " it is the old maxim verified, 
'One's loss is another's gain'; it's splendid 
rowing for us; but slow sailing for Sam," and 



178 louise Thompson's works, 

Zephyr thought how her unhappiness had con- 
tributed to Ida's pleasure. " Well, since it is 
decided that the water lilies must be reached, 
I 'm glad we are so near," said Zephyr, as they 
approached the shore "where the water lilies 
grow." " Gladder than I am?" gasped Ida, 
inquiringly, as she dropped her oars for a mo- 
ment's rest. " Isn't it fearfully warm, or am I 
heated with exercise?" she continued to in- 
quire. "I'm no judge of the temperature of 
the atmosphere, for I am always cold," an- 
swered Zephyr, shrugging her shoulders under 
the fairy weight of Ida's shawl. "I hope you 
are not exhausted, for if we stay here long I 
shall be thoroughly chilled." Ida took up the 
oars again, and they were soon in among the 
water lilies. Zephyr gathered them, while Ida 
managed the boat. It was a task to Zephyr to 
reach down the long, slippery stems of the 
lilies, thro' the thick, stagnant water in which 
they grew. But she finished her task bravely, 
and then exultingly exclaimed, "There is not 
a white lily left, to tempt the ravished gaze of 






AMONG THE WATER LILIES. 1 79 

the unfortunate Hansons to-night. Let us get 
back, now, before they start, and the disap- 
pointment will be mysterious to them — they 
will think the very fates and fairies are against 
them. V Meanwhile, Ida had made several 
desperate strokes without making much pro- 
gress ; the standing lake weeds and floating 
weeds, made rowing very difficult among the 
water lilies. Ida, at last, put out all her 
strength in one powerful stroke. The boat 
moved about three inches, and then settled 
back to its former position. It had struck 
against one of the big water lily roots that arch 
up thro* the water, and yielded to the shock. 
Again Ida threw out all her strength in her 
desperate efforts at the oars. This time the 
boat moved slowly forward, farther than before, 
but the weight of the weeds on the oars was an 
unavoidable impediment in the way of Ida's 
progress. "That was better," said Zephyr, 
while Ida busied herself at the entanglement of 
her oars. For, although Zephyr was always 
predicting danger, she was even hopeful when 



180 louise Thompson's works. 

it came, rrtf Make another move like that and 
we '11 be free, " she said, in a way of encourage- 
ment to Ida, who was now beginning to fear 
even improbable dangers, and in her excite- 
ment and eagerness she put forth such a stroke 
as she could never have made under more calm 
circumstances. "Oh! oh!" came in broken 
gasps from both girls simultaneously, when, as 
the oars came to the surface, the left one bent, 
cracked, and broke under its enormous load of 
water-soaked weeds. Ida found, upon exam- 
ination, that the oar showed an old flaw in the 
wood, and had probably been cracked for some 
time. It had broken off just where it began 
to widen for the paddle, and was rendered per- 
fectly useless. "I guess we are about as 
helpless as Sam in his sail-boat," murmured 
Zephyr, gloomily, assuming a dreamy air. The 
shock had thrown her into a state of vacancy, 
rather than excitement. With Ida the effect 
was different. She was eloquent with regret 
and terror. "Oh," said she, in a gush of re- 
morse, ! ' I can never get forgiveness for bring- 



AMONG THE WATER LILIES. l8l 

ing you out here, Zephyr. Do wrap yourself 
as good as you possibly can, with my shawl. 
Maybe it won't hurt you so very bad to be 
out. We won't have to stay here very long, 
for the Hansons will soon be here, and they 
.will certainly see to our rescue." "They may 
change their plans, though, and not come until 
morning," suggested Zephyr. "Oh, Zephyr, 
do n't make such frightful intimations ; it chills 
me to the heart to think of your staying out 
here all night ; but it 's foolish to fear such im- 
probabilities. I can see no reason why they 
should change their plans in so short a time. " 
" It is a question of time," murmured Zephyr, 
as she posed herself quite comfortably on the 
cushioned seat she fortunately occupied. 
M They will not arrive before night, if they 
should come, will they?" inquired Zephyr. 
" No, dear," answered Ida; "but do spare me 
the pain of hearing that despairing * if. ' Of 
course they will come. Why, what could pre- 
vent them ? " " Something unforeseen might, " 
suggested Zephyr. Slowly, softly the twilight 



1 82 louise Thompson's works. 

darkened the amber tints of sunset, and in- 
visibly the shades of twilight melted into silver 
radiance beneath the beams of the y Queen of 
Night,' I that reigned from the zenith. The 
two white-clad figures, who sat among the 
water lilies like fairy sentinels, were silent and . 
motionless, except when they started at the 
shrill and sudden note of some lone night bird 
that had ventured near, unconscious of any hu- 
man presence there, or when a frog would 
plunge heavily into the lake from the shore. 
An hour passed and no boat appeared to the 
prisoners of the lake. Zephyr was resigned; 
at least she appeared to be ; but Ida, in the in- 
tensity of fear and remorse, was restless and 
alert, always peering about for the means of 
relief. Another hour dragged heavily on, and 
still they waited, listening breathlessly, and 
hearing nothing but the faint sound of the 
waves as they softly swept the shore. " Have 
you any idea what time it is, Ida ?" inquired 
Zephyr, at the close of two, painful hours. 
y I 've a strong feeling that it is time we were 



AMONG THE WATER LILIES 1 83 

being relieved of this most awkward and dan- 
gerous position," answered Ida, in a voice that 
betrayed ill-suppressed displeasure, fear and 
remorse. " Perhaps I can see the time by the 
moonlight," she continued, taking her little, 
jeweled watch from her belt, and holding it in 
the strongest accessible light. "It's twenty 
minutes past eight," she said, gloomily, after a 
long examination of the truthful, little time- 
piece. <4 I can't believe that we are doomed 
to spend the night here; the idea is too pre- 
posterous to retain against hope." "Look up 
the lake!" exclaimed Zephyr, as Ida ceased 
speaking. " It 's the excursion boat," shouted 
Ida, as it steamed down the lake with its 
gorgeous imitations of all the colors of the 
hope-inspiring rainbow. It was splendidly 
lighted with various-hued lights, and glided 
over the peaceful, moonlit waters, in an at- 
mosphere rich and electrical with music. How 
grandly she moves along ! filling the air with 
the sound of her gayeties and pleasures. 
"Isn't she majestic? She seems to realize 



1 84 louise Thompson's works, 

the vast responsibility of lives that are en- 
trusted to her keeping. I always did feel like 
a boat was a living thing; it's a preposterous 
whim ; but there is so much ease, power and 
grace in its motion, that I feel that it must 
be the issue of a hidden life somewhere/' 
eulogized Zephyr, as she aroused from the state 
of vacancy to which she had yielded. "There 
i$ life there — a living man at the wheel — else 
she couldn't make such graceful movements," 
answered Ida. By this time the boat was di- 
rectly opposite them, and Ida, after detaching 
her pretty, white, moire sash from its attach- 
ments, waved it frantically, to attract the at- 
tention of the excursionists. There was a ball 
on board, in which the passengers all partici- 
pated, and for some unknown reason, "the 
man at the wheel," too, was blind to the flut- 
tering signal of distress, that was hoisted in 
hope and lowered in despair. Unmindful of 
other's miseries, absorbed in their own pleas- 
ures, on went the merry, dancing crowd on the 
proud, old steamer, leaving behind the yearn- 



AMONG THE WATER LILIES. 1 85 

ing hearts and longing eyes of Zephyr Stone 
and Ida Haverly. Although the day had been 
oppressively warm, the night was chilly, as it 
always is on the water. The atmosphere about 
the water lily beds was foul with malarial 
poisons, and the green, stagnant water emitted 
a most offensive odor. "The cold isn't half as 
unpleasant as the impurities of the atmosphere ; 
I feel as tho' I shall choke," said Zephyr, 
hoarsely, when they were again left to the 
loneliness of their surroundings. They were 
not, naturally, timid girls, and feared no unreal 
dangers, such as some hideous, unimaginable 
monster, hid in the bushes, ready to leap out 
and devour them ; but they realized the in- 
evitable danger of a night spent on the lake its 
an open boat. When ten o'clock came, bring- 
ing no relief, Ida's hopes died within her, and 
anger, momentarily, took the place of remorse. 
"It's all the fault of those hateful Hansons," 
she said, bitterly. "In the first place, I should 
not have insisted upon your coming out with 
me, if I hadn't overheard that spiteful remark 



1 86 louise Thompson's works. 

Daisy Hanson made, and then, to think they 
would fail to come when their coming would re- 
sult in some good for the first time. " "You 
seem to forget that they are ignorant of all 
that," answered Zephyr. "I've no doubt 
that they would row up here, even now, if they 
knew of our misfortune ; it 's only the reward 
of my disobedience, instead of any fault of 
theirs ; but I shall do well to keep still in this 
night air, so don't think me sullen because I 
am silent, dear," And Zephyr wrapped the 
shawl more closely about her, and, adjusting 
her position slightly, prepared herself for the 
comfortless hours of that long, cold night. 
Poor Ida ! her suffering must have atoned for 
her folly. All night she sat silent and helpless 
in the full presence of the trouble her rashness 
had caused, and with no other company than 
Zephyr's gentle silence, and her own unhappy, 
repentant thoughts. She was beginning, now, 
to feel that she was more blameworthy than 
the Hansons. "It was no affair of mine," 
thought she, "if Daisy Hanson did cheat 



AMONG THE WATER LILIES. 1 87 

everybody of their chances for water lilies ; I 
didn't care for the flowers, anyway; my mo- 
tive was mean, and it has resulted in disaster. 
If I were the only one to suffer the penalty, 
she thought, how slight it would be — too slight 
for the wrong done, I suppose." Such was the 
character of Ida's thoughts, as she sat watch- 
ing the patient, forgiving creature she had so 
thoughtlessly injured. The two had been 
school chums from early childhood, and were 
loving, devoted friends. They expected to 
graduate together the next summer, and be- 
yond that, they had plans laid that reached 
across the sea. Zephyr had a brilliant mind ; 
but a delicate physique. Once she had been 
forced to leave school and seek a change of 
climate, she being always susceptible to cold. 
Ida, knowing Zephyr as she did, could easily 
image the result of that night's adventure, and 
many were the sorrowful scenes that passed be- 
fore her in fancy, ere the light of day dispelled 
the sombre imagery of that sad night. Morn- 
ing came at last, like a flaming rescuer to the 



1 88 louise Thompson's works. 

two dew-drenched girls, who had seen sunset 
and sunrise from the same prison grounds. 
The thirsty sunbeams soon drank up the spark- 
ling dew, and warmed the cold, comfortless 
creatures it had chilled. "How tired and 
worn you look! " said Zephyr, in a hoarse, 
half-whisper, when the full morning light re- 
vealed Ida's changed face, it And how awfully 
hoarse you are ! " returned Ida, much distressed. 
"I feel as tho' I was paralyzed, " answered 
Zephyr ; " I am numb all over, either from be- 
ing chilled, or from keeping the same position 
so long." " A boat ! a boat ! II shouted Ida, 
as Zephyr ceased. A row-boat was coming 
toward them, and it was occupied by Daisy 
Hanson and her friends. Fortunately they 
were rowing with four oars, and soon were 
among the water lilies, and in speaking distance 
of Ida and Zephyr. "They have taken all the 
nice ones," said Daisy Hanson, in an under- 
tone, that was loud enough, however, to reach 
Ida, who was beginning to feel a delicacy in 
asking help of one she had meant to annoy. 



AMONG THE WATER LILIES. 1 89 

But the force of circumstances urged her to act, 
and she shouted out : " O, Miss Hanson, have 
you a pair of oars you could spare for our re- 
lief ? " ' I Certainly, ' p answered Daisy, promptly. 
" Are you wrecked ?" "Yes, I suppose we 
might call it a wreck," said Ida. "We have 
been made prisoners by a broken oar, and, 
much to our displeasure, have spent the night 
out here. " "How dreadful ! what an adven- 
ture you have had ! You have my deepest 
sympathy, and with it, my oars," said Daisy, 
as she passed one pair of her oars over to 
Ida. "In return, I hope you will accept our 
gratitude, which is proportionate to our neces- 
sity, and your very timely kindness," re- 
sponded Ida, with deep sincerity. ' ' Please ac- 
cept of our lilies, Miss Hanson, as the only ob- 
tainable token of our thankfulness. They 
are quite nice yet; I kept them in the water all 
night," said Zephyr, holding out the lilies to 
Daisy, who took them quite eagerly/thanking 
Zephyr for them. The newly reconciled rivals 
were soon beyond the dangers and difficulties 



IgO J-OUISE THOMPSONS WORKS. 

of the lily beds, and two of them, at least, en- 
joyed breakfast with a relish unknown before. 
When their adventure became known, they 
were the subject of much inquiry and com- 
ment. Zephyr was too feverish to care for 
dinner. Ida attempted to eat; but she choked 
on the very thought of Zephyr's absence at the 
table. Each successive day found Zephyr 
worse, until at last she lay delirious and helpless 
with typhoid pneumonia. The season was en- 
tirely past before she was able to be taken 
home. She was slow to regain strength, and 
had a cough that remained after the fever dis- 
appeared. Ida came daily to see her, and 
lingered for hours about her bed, reading to her, 
or telling her all the school girl gossip she 
knew would interest her, and doing all she 
could to alleviate the wrong she had so thought- 
lessly done her. "Why, I never thought of 
it before, Ida, but now it occurs to me that you 
have not entered school yet this fall," said 
Zephyr, one bright October day, while Ida was 
making her customary call. ft How could I go 



AMONG THE WATER LILIES. I9I 

without you, my dearie? It would be like go- 
ing to a funeral every day. I could not bear it, 
and then we want to graduate together, you 
know/' answered Ida. Zephyr turned and 
looked dreamily out at the window that opened 
to a view of the haze-veiled mountain tops that 
bounded the Southern horizon. She looked a 
long time — so long, Ida grew restless ; but an 
instinct made her fear to break the silence of 
Zephyr's reverie. At last Zephyr took her 
eyes from the mountains, and, looking Ida full 
in the face, she spoke very gently: "1 want 
you to make me a vow, Ida— promise me that 
you will not allow my absence to keep you 
from school next year. Stay at home while I 
am here ; I would be very lonely without you. 
But next year — I only say this to you, Ida, 
others would think me weak and foolish— I 
have a presentiment that I shall not be Irere 
then/' Ida could not speak; her tears fell 
" like summer torrents/' and her heart heaved 
like it would burst. A little, dewy moisture 
glistened in Zephyr V mild, blue eyes ; but her 



192 louise Thompson's works. 

voice was clear, when, after the first violence of 
Ida's grief had passed, she urged her to make 
the vow. * You will promise me, wont you ? " 
she said, in such eager, imploring tones, that 
Ida, whose voice was drowned in tears, came to 
her, and, bending low over her, whispered, 
w Yes." Then Zephyr took the tearful face in 
her thin, white hands, and kissed the lips whose 
utterance had made her so happy. ' * There is 
one thing more t wish you would do when I am 
dead" (the last four words did sound so 
strange, they seemed to call out a hard, 
metallic echo that would never die away. 
Zephyr stopped, and she felt a little, dizzy 
wave of feeling creep over her ; but she fought 
it off, and continued): " W it will not make 
you feel too badly, I wish you would have 
them lay a broken oar of some kind of white 
flowers across my coffin lid." That same 
metallic sound made Zephyr almost leave the 
last words unspoken. She had thought it 
would be easy to speak of death when the 
heart was right with God ; but the word mas 



AMONG THE WATER LILIES. 1 93 

tered her. The spirit strove for its human 
habitation, like Moses, in the oriental story of 
his mysterious death and burial. But familiar- 
ity with sorrow makes us friendly with it. 

While Christmas chimes were ringing, the 
slow, deep tones of a funeral bell broke in upon 
the happy music of their ringing, and most 
sorrowful and sincere mourners took the last 
lingering look at the pure, pale beauty of 
gentle Zephyr Stone. There was a new, green 
grave in the cemetery, and a deep-dug grave in 
Ida Haverly's heart. 

Reader, if you have had a friend you loved 
above all others, fancy, if you can, that your 
folly has dug his grave, and time has covered 
it with the green garments of summer, and the 
snow-shrouds of winter, then you will know 
better than I can tell you how Ida Haverly 
atoned for her wrong. 

November, 1888. 

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